


Chosen Curse, Hidden Thunder

by izazov



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, M/M, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-12-06
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:58:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2533322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki gets cursed. But he is not the only one affected by it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Loki’s steps are slow and measured as he closes the distance between himself and the body writhing in agony on the other side of the street. He ignores the screeching of tires and blaring of sirens as he walks through the heavy traffic of that wretched Midgardian city, he never wanted to step foot into again. But, as he seems to be the favourite plaything for the Norns, here he is again.

The reason for Loki’s unplanned sojourn is currently trying to push herself up from the ground, but Loki knows it to be futile effort. He was aiming to kill, not disable, holding nothing back. 

Loki waves a dismissive hand when the sound of a siren and screeching of tires comes from far too close, followed by a male voice demanding of him to stop and surrender. He does not turn to see the police car being lifted off the ground and slamming into the owner of the voice, his eyes fixed on his prey. 

In any other situation, Loki could even find it in himself to be merciful, but as it is, there is nothing but cold, hard determination inside him now. Amora has brought this upon herself. After refusing to heed his repeated warnings to stay away from Thor, she made Loki chase her through three Realms before he finally cornered her on this damned rock. In the city which stands like a rather impressive monument to Loki’s failure and doubtful life choices.

And the Avengers. Must not forget them. Even sans Thor, they are more than capable to cause him unnecessary headache.

With another wave of his right hand, Loki mutes the sounds of New York’s traffic. With every step he takes, the weak, pitiful moans of pain coming from Amora are growing louder, but they leave him unaffected, the expected sense of triumph somehow failing to make an appearance. He merely wishes to end this long and bothersome chase, and leave this damned realm before the ghosts from his past materialize before him and Loki loses all control over an already trying situation.

Loki’s ribs and right shoulder are still mending from his encounter against Skurge a month ago on Alfheim, and his magic is all but drained in his fight against Amora. He is bruised and bleeding from several cuts and gashes, growing weaker by the second. He is vulnerable and in no condition to stand for long against the combined might of the Avengers should – _when_ – they make an appearance.

Annoyance and a flicker of unease well up inside him and he hastens his steps, but he makes it only half of the way before he freezes in his tracks when he hears the familiar sound of pavement cracking under the impact of a body crashing against it, making his chest tighten with dread, irritation, and, absurdly, exhilaration.

_He was not supposed to be here._

But of course he is here. Loki should have expected it. This is his favourite playground, after all. And Loki is trespassing. No matter how reluctantly. Or with what motives.

Even if Loki would rather swallow his own tongue than divulge the reason of his return to Midgard. The reason for hunting Amora across the realms, putting his own life at risk.

Taking a deep breath, Loki turns slowly. He needs not hurry. No matter through how many character altering transformations Thor goes through, he will always confront his enemies face to face.

The sight that greets Loki when he finally turns is painfully familiar – Thor standing straight, his shoulders tense, Mjölnir half-raised and ready to be hurled at his master’s behest, Thor’s cape billowing dramatically behind him… nothing Loki has not seen countless of times. Either standing side by side with Thor, or, like now, facing him across what should soon become a field of battle, and yet…

There is not a trace of righteous anger in Thor’s eyes, or that foolish hope he had been clinging to for far longer than anyone with half a functioning brain cell would. There is only cold and hard resolve in Thor’s expression, strengthened by the tight clench of Thor’s jaw and the crease of his brow. Something shifts in the pit of Loki’s stomach and the ripple it creates holds a strong semblance to hurt. _Too_ strong for Loki’s peace of mind.

 _Gone is the foolish sentiment, brother?_

“You have such a poor memory, Thor. Have you forgotten what has happened the last time you left the throne of Asgard unguarded?” Loki says, grinning when a flash of fury darkens Thor’s gaze.

But Thor’s anger goes no further. There is no howl of fury, and Mjölnir remains in Thor’s hand. For some ineffable reason, Loki feels his own anger spark at Thor’s display of control over his temper.

“Worry not, Loki. If I forget everything else, my memory of your greatest act of betrayal and deception will stay with me.” Thor says evenly, the corners of his mouth lifting in a mirthless smile. “Until the end of my days.”

Loki’s own smile falters momentarily, his throat closing as his mind conjures the image – unwanted and utterly unwelcome – of Thor’s face after his discovery of who exactly is ruling Asgard. There had been hurt there, deep and raw, also disbelief, but they receded fast, and the fury that took their place – terrifying in its intensity – made Loki truly afraid of Thor for the first time in his life.

“Ah. So this is about revenge, then?” Loki states, inclining his head to the side. “Not exactly the height of nobility, Thor.”

“Not revenge. _Justice_.” Thor states, still too damnably calm and controlled for Loki’s taste.

Once, it had been so easy to rouse the anger in Thor, laughably so. But it was before. Before the exile, before Midgard made a man out of Thor, snuffing out the fire that has always burned brightly just under Thor’s skin and calming his spirit. Turning him into a stranger, into a shadow of the brother Loki has known all his life, in the precise moment Loki’s own life shattered into million pieces, never to be put together again. 

“ _Asgardian_ justice, Thor?” Loki asks, his voice honey sweet. Thor’s face draws into a frown, and his jaw clenches tighter, and Loki feels a surge of dark joy at that. Tempered yes, but not extinguished completely. There is still a berserker lurking in the deepest recesses of Thor’s heart. “But I am not of Asgard.”

“You know very well that Midgard stands under Asgard’s protection.”

“You mean _your_ protection, do you not?” Loki’s says softly. Thor’s stance remains unchanged, but his control is slipping with each passing moment, his eyes narrowing into slits, the blue of his irises turning almost grey. “I cannot remember Odin expressing much concern about this backwater realm.”

“Before you made it your target, Loki, Midgard was in no need of Asgard’s interference.”

“I see that selective memory is still working marvelously for you, Thor. Need I remind you that they have made themselves a target when they started tampering with the Tesseract?”

Thor stays silent a moment, his mouth curling in distaste. Thor’s stance almost imperceptibly shifts and Loki swallows a groan of annoyance, his own body tensing in preparation of an attack. He cannot stand long against Thor, he knows it, and it feels like a slap to his face. Just once, _once_ in his cursed existence Loki would appreciate things going his way.

_As long as he still lives and breathes you will never be free of his shadow. No matter how far you go, or what you do._

“I have not come here to indulge you in your word games, Loki.” Thor states, making a step forward. “I have not the will, nor patience for them anymore.”

Loki flexes his hand, a dagger appearing in it. He really, really hopes he can muster enough magic to flee this place. But, as Thor’s expression changes to one of deadly resolve, Loki becomes aware that it will not be long before he finds out. One way or another.

“I cannot fathom why.” Loki grins with far more confidence than he feels, steeling himself for a fight in which he has even less chances than usual against Thor. “Seeing as how you were always so good at them.”

Thor’s jaw twitches and he opens his mouth, but the sound that disrupts the silence is not Thor’s deep growl, but the sound of weak, laboured laughter coming from behind Loki.

Without giving it a second thought, no matter the Thor-shaped threat nearby, Loki turns, his face drawing into a frown when he catches sight of Amora, now sitting upright, her hand curled around her abdomen. Her face is deathly pale, thin trails of blood streaking down her face from her nose, ears and corner of her mouth. She is dying. And yet, the amount of malicious glee burning in her eyes is a sight which sends an involuntary shiver of dread down Loki’s spine.

“The last gift from the Norns before my death.” She says, her voice, even though weak, holds a hint of some hidden threat which makes Loki’s insides clench with yet unnamed dread.

“Your pathetic obsession is what put you in your current position, and still you cling to it.” Loki says, each word dripping with disdain.

Amora bursts into laughter which is cut short when she doubles over, her breathing coming out in harsh pants. Loki takes a hesitant step toward her, not really sure of his intentions. And all had been so clear to him mere moments ago. Before Thor fell from the sky and into his life after a blessed decade of being absent from it.

_Absent? Truly?_

When she lifts her head again, there is a wide grin on her face, the blood staining her teeth making it seem even more sinister. “ _My_ pathetic obsession?” She repeats, sounding genuinely amused. “I cannot decide what I find more amusing, Loki. The irony of your words or the fact you seem blind to it.” Loki clenches his jaw together, his eyes narrowing, but Amora’s gaze leaves his face, her blood-stained grin turning softer as her gaze settles on Thor. Loki almost jerks in surprise when Thor appears next to him, a grave expression on his face. “Hello, Thor. You are a sight for dying eyes.”

For a moment, Loki feels like this is not actually happening, the entire situation suddenly turning surreal. Here he is, standing next to Thor, watching their mutual enemy’s last moments. And all that with the added bonus of Midgardian forces of justice gathering in close vicinity in exponentially larger numbers. Norns really _do_ hate him.

Thor blinks, frowning. “I… I am sorry, Amora.” He says solemnly. Loki’s gaze flicks toward Thor’s face. The sentimental idiot truly does look like he means it. Loki wants to roll his eyes at that, but he settles for a glare which goes unnoticed. Perhaps, next time when he comes into possession of a knowledge of someone planning to subjugate Thor to their will, Loki should stand back and allow it to happen. The entertainment value alone would be more than worth it. “I would wish you a better fate than this.”

“Why the apology, Thor? It is not you who is the cause of this.” She says, her gaze flicking briefly toward Loki’s face, holding a truly wicked glint. “Although…” She trails off, looking meaningfully between Loki and Thor.

“Shut your mouth.” Loki sneers, taking a step forward, his grip around the dagger in his hand tightening. “And die already.”

“ _Loki._ ” Thor warns, but Loki ignores him, focused on the look of triumph suddenly appearing on Amora’s face. The look which had no place on the face of a dying woman.

“Have you ever wanted to test the limits of your power, Loki? And then step right over the line?” Amora asks, and Loki freezes on the spot, confused and alarmed at the same time. Of course he had. No magic practitioner ever had not been faced with the same temptation, with the same question – how far can I push myself before I destroy myself? But why would she…?

“How that holds any relevance now, Amora?” Loki asks, noting how Thor’s bewildered gaze travels from Loki to Amora and back again, as if trying to determine the source of a greater threat.

Her grin widens, and Loki feels a twinge of real fear at the amount of dark satisfaction in it. “And I thought you to be smarter than this. Think about it, Loki. If the threat of death is what holds us back, what is to stop us if death is already here?”

Loki blinks, his mind freezing in shock as realization finally dawns on him. It lasts no more than a moment, but it is a moment too long. Amora’s hand shoots up and a Loki only has the time to curse his own stupidity before a blast of magic slams into him, sending him staggering back. He is dimly aware of Thor crying out in alarm and the sounds of sirens growing louder as his muting spell falters, most of his focus concentrated on the almost electric sensation of tendrils of magic weaving themselves around him. Loki clenches his jaw, expecting the pain that he knows is to come, but…

Nothing happens. _Nothing._

Slowly and carefully he straightens, taking in his surroundings. Amora is dead, lying on her back, her vacant eyes staring at the sky, her face frozen in a look of triumph. Inhaling harshly, Loki feels a surge of impotent rage coursing through him, and he wants…

“Loki?”

_Oh, yes, Thor. Let’s not forget about him. Or you could, if being dragged back in chains to Asgard is your immediate desire._

Loki turns to face his once-brother, his grip on the dagger in his hand turning almost desperate. Thor is staring at Loki and Loki almost recoils when he notes how close he is standing, barely a step away. Far too close for Loki’s peace of mind. All Thor has to do is reach out and he will have Loki in his hold, but Thor, at least for the moment, looks unsure, his expression caught between caution and something that looks like concern.

“What did she… are you well?” Thor asks, slowly and carefully. Loki blinks, feeling a surge of hysterical laughter well up in his throat. He is so far from feeling well, has been for so long, he has forgotten what that actually means.

Releasing a deep breath, Loki summons all the magic he can muster, hoping it will be enough. “Farewell, Thor.” He says, and the last thing he sees before he shimmers out of existence is the look of hurt on Thor’s face.

******

For days, Loki hides like a rat in an abandoned warehouse, using the last of the magic at his disposal to shield himself from Heimdall’s prying eyes should Thor do the reasonable thing and ask for the Gatekeeper’s aid. Doing nothing but wait. For his magic to return so he could leave this wretched realm, all the while cursing Amora, cursing Thor. Cursing even his own stupidity which has led him to chase Amora in the first place.

He stalks the dirty, cold interior of his shelter as a nervous beast, trying, but failing to ignore the tingle of foreign magic, clinging to him as a second skin. Amora might be dead, but she’s had the last laugh, and Loki can almost imagine the mocking curve of her lips at the truly pathetic sight he must be presenting – all but rendered helpless, caught like a mouse in a trap and unable to squirm out of it, waiting for the consequences of whatever spell Amora has hit him with to manifest. Or for the Avengers to storm this place and take him into custody.

After three days and no enemy sightings, he is still trapped in the same warehouse with his patience all but frayed, his nerves tight as bowstring. And the fact that his mind has turned into an endless well of gruesome images of what Amora’s spell could entail, does not help matters in the least. He is anxious and any small sound makes his heart still in his chest, and yet.

Nothing has happened.

He is not growing weaker, his magic slowly – painfully so – but surely returning to him. He is not under any kind of compulsion – as far as he can tell – and he is not experiencing any discomfort. Other than slowly growing mad with helplessness and apprehension.

Day five greets him sitting on the cold concrete floor with his back leaning against the wall, staring at nothing. His anxiety has morphed into listlessness, and even his mind has run out of ideas as to what has that bitch done to him. At this point, Loki would even welcome the sight of Avengers bursting through the door, just to have something, anything, happen. But the doors remain whole and undamaged, and the Avengers do not come.

At the dawn of the sixth day, Loki feels his magic surging through him. He takes a deep breath, revelling in the familiar feeling of his own power returning to him at last. His face splits into a wide, toothy grin and he pushes himself up to his feet. He wants to howl with laughter, and he wants to level this damn rat trap with the ground, but he ignores both. Instead, he reminds himself of what is truly important – leaving this pathetic realm and finding out what kind of a spell he is under.

Taking one last glance of the warehouse, Loki teleports away.

******

“Wait here. My master will see you as soon as he is able.”

Loki drags his eyes away from the strong hand hovering an inch away from his chest, halting his steps. He throws a glance at the large door behind the man, feeling a twinge of fury at the treatment. It takes Loki a moment to remember that he is no longer the younger prince of Asgard and Odin’s son, but a homeless Jotun disguised as an Asgardian, a wanted criminal on two realms.

Swallowing against the bile gathered in his throat, Loki smiles pleasantly. “As you wish.” He says softly, taking a step back, rising his hands in a gesture of surrender.

The bodyguard’s face draws into a frown, and, for a moment, he looks genuinely disappointed with Loki’s attitude. As if he was spoiling for a fight. Loki feels a spark of interest at the idea of making the bodyguard pay for his insolence and he takes an assessing look of the man – average in height, but sturdy built, thick muscle rippling under the naked skin of his arms. A fighter, that much is clear, someone like Thor – all muscle and brute, mindless force.

_But that is not all Thor is, is it? Not anymore._

Pushing all thoughts of Thor to the back of his mind where they belong, Loki refocuses his attention back on the man still standing imposingly in front of him. Loki is not sure which species the man belongs to. His build and features are humanoid, but his olive skin and strange eyes, almost purple in colour, are nothing Loki has seen so far. And, after his fall from the Bifrost, he has seen much. The man stares at him with narrowed eyes, as if he can see past Loki’s cordial expression and into his thoughts. And, for a moment, Loki wants the brute to attack him, wants the chance to engage in mindless violence so he could purge himself of at least part of the frustrations he has been living with since New York and Amora’s death. But the man merely snorts softly, as if Loki is beneath him, unworthy of the effort it would take to break him. Taking a step back, the bodyguard folds his hands across his chest, fixing his attention on some non-existent object in front of him, ignoring Loki’s presence completely.

Pressing his lips into a tight line and pushing back the urge to kill the insolent idiot, Loki takes a cursory glance of the room, aware that yet another wait is in front of him. It is half-lit, the only source of light a swirling yellow globe placed above the massive door the brute is guarding. Resigning himself to waiting, however reluctantly, Loki strolls over to the lone chair, the only piece of furniture in the otherwise empty room, and takes a seat.

It has been three months since his and Amora’s clash in New York, since Thor, with his immaculate timing as ever, distracted him long enough, making it possible for Amora to hit him with a spell which still remains a mystery to Loki.

After leaving Midgard, Loki returned to Vanaheim where he has been hiding for the largest part of the last ten years. It is sometimes difficult for Loki to believe that only ten years have passed since Thor discovered his deception. Ten years is nothing, barely a blink of an eye for an Asgardian – or a Jotun as it seems – but it feels longer for Loki. Perhaps the cause of it lies in the nagging and persistent feeling he loathes to name as regret.

Svartalfheim should have been his end. In many ways, it had been. Thor had denied their brotherhood when he came seeking Loki’s help against Malekith. It… stung. Even if Loki had not been sure how much truth there was to Thor’s words. Too much time has passed since he last saw Thor, and the man standing before him, seeing right through his illusion, was not the same brash, impulsive and simple brother Loki grew up with. But Frigga was dead and Thor was offering him a way out of his cell and a chance at painting his hands with that creature’s blood. There was nothing for him to do but say yes. And then he died. Or should have died.

Sometimes, when he is too weary to stop himself, he recalls how it felt to have Thor’s arms around him, to watch the anguish and horror in Thor’s eyes, to see tears streaming down his face. Tears for _him_. But he does it less and less now, the momentary illusion of peace not worth the hollow ache in the middle of his chest that comes afterwards. They have made their peace, there, in the middle of a barren wasteland. And even if it has happened in the worst possible moment, they were brothers once again, the bond re-forged in Loki’s blood and Thor’s tears.

It lasted only until Loki came back to life with a gasp, the wound that should have been his death, already starting to heal. Thor and his scientist were nowhere to be seen, believing him dead, and there, in the distance, Loki could see a member of Einherjar coming his way. He was a free man in that moment. Free to choose his next step. He could have hidden himself. He could have run and kept away from Asgard, let Thor’s last memory of him be a good one.

But he had made a different choice. One which, like all the rest of his choices, blew up in his face in the form of furious Thor confronting him. And now here he is, in a shack in the middle of one of Alfheim’s forests, drenched in Amora’s magic, waiting like a beggar for a dwarven magician to grant him the honour of his time.

And all this because of Thor. Like always. If the fool had not appeared when he had, Loki would have ended Amora before she recovered enough to curse him. And the bitch had done just that – cursed him, but, no matter his efforts, Loki was not able to determine the exact nature of the curse. It took him a month of searching, threatening and negotiating to find his way to someone who has been mentioned only in hushed whispers, more a myth than reality – the dwarf with the ability to discern the nature of magic, but without any magic of his own.

The light flickers, then starts blinking in and out of existence, but Loki pays it no mind. Well, not until…

“The master will see you now.”

Loki’s eyes flick toward the bodyguard, the expression on his face almost as sullen as his voice. “That was surprisingly fast.” Loki says, grinning widely as he rises to his feet.

“Don’t try anything.” The brute stops him with a hand against his chest, his eyes narrowed with animosity and suspicion.

Loki almost snorts, a memory of similar expression and similar warning flashing inside his mind. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Loki smiles, with a mocking half-bow. The muscle in the brute’s jaw twitches, the hand still splayed against Loki’s chest digging deeper. Loki’s grin only grows wider, his eyebrows rising in question. “Is it wise to keep your master waiting?”

The brute’s lips curl in a disgusted snarl as he pulls his hand away and takes a step to the side, allowing Loki to pass. Loki chuckles softly and reaches after the door, but when his hand comes in contact with the polished wood, the reality swirls and stretches all around him, and before he has a chance to do anything but release a surprised gasp, Loki finds himself standing in the middle of a spacious, well lit room, his eyes widening despite himself when they land on a massive shelf, taking up entire wall of the room, filled with various, extremely rare magical objects.

Without thinking, Loki walks over to the shelf, his feet carrying him there almost of their own volition. Releasing a sharp breath, his heartbeat picking up speed at the sheer amount of power right before his eyes, Loki reaches out, his fingers hovering hesitatingly over a sheet of paper. 

“I believe not one of my clients has not done what you are doing now.” An amused, slightly gruff voice sounds from behind him, and Loki has to use all his self-control not to snatch his hand back as if he is a child, caught with his fingers in a cookie jar. “And to answer the question you are probably entertaining; no, trying to kill me would not end well for you.”

Loki releases a soft chuckle and turns slowly, not bothering to deny the dwarf’s words.

“I gathered that.” Loki says, the corner of his mouth still turned upwards. “Considering your collection remains intact.”

“So the rumours about Loki Odinson are true, then. You are in possession of a quick mind.” The dwarf says, coming to sit into one of the two large chairs, placed in the middle of the room, offering the other to Loki. “Please, take a seat.”

The smile fades from Loki’s lips, his chest growing cold, his hands clenching into fists despite himself. “Only Loki, if you would be so kind.” Loki forces through clenched teeth, willing himself to calm. “So you know my identity.”

The dwarf shrugs as Loki settles into the offered seat. “I make it my business to know all my potential clients’ identities. It’s closely tied with the payment for my services.”

Loki blinks, frowning, but decides not to bite the bait so early in conversation. “And how am I to address you? My sources were not conclusive on that front.” Loki asks, a part of him genuinely intrigued. One does not often find himself in the company of a myth. And names… well, they do possess not a small amount of power. As his host had proved so effortlessly not so long ago.

A smile flicks across the dwarf’s bearded face. “You may call me Hadrin.” He says softly, and Loki stops himself from rolling his eyes, but just barely. A false name, but it will do. Calling him ‘dwarf’ would become silly after a while. “And now, about your problem…”

“Where are we now?” Loki asks, ignoring Hadrin’s words, trying to gain some ground in this conversation. He is not used to being the weaker party in any conversation, the one with less insight, and it grates on his nerves, too reminiscent of Odin. “Are we even still on Alfheim?”

A barest flicker of surprise appears in Hadrin’s eyes, but it disappears almost instantly. “ _Truly_ quick mind. But you will have to excuse me for not answering. Secrets of the trade.” Hadrin says, shrugging his shoulders apologetically, but the smile is gone from his eyes, his gaze turning sharp and assessing.

“I understand. The truth always seems that much greater when wrapped in illusion.” Loki smiles, sharp and vicious. “And if the illusion persist long enough, it grows and you have created yourself a myth.”

“Oh, yes, _illusion_. You would know all about that.” Hadrin says, smiling softly. “Wouldn’t you?”

Loki blinks, the smile freezing on his face, his stomach feeling heavy and cold suddenly. He has forgotten about that, had not even considered it before coming here. Hadrin sees him, _truly_ sees him. Sees through the illusion of his Aesir skin, down to his real, Jotun one.

“Are you ready to talk about what made you seek me out? Or are there any other questions you wish answered?”

Loki manages a small, forced smile. If anything, his dealings with Thor have taught him the value of knowing when to retreat. “My curiosity is sated, thank you.”

A glint of excitement lights up Hadrin’s eyes and he rubs his hands together gleefully. “I must say, I have not been this excited in a long time. It is not often that a prince of Asgard seeks my aid.”

This time Loki does not even try to stop himself. His hand shots out, winding around the dwarf’s throat. “I may not be able to kill you, dwarf, but I have recently learned how much damage one can make with their last breath.”

To Loki’s immense annoyance, Hadrin does not look neither alarmed, nor scared. He calmly wraps his fingers around Loki’s wrist and pulls gently. “And someone like you… I would wager quite a lot.”

They stay like that a moment longer, and Loki can almost taste the desire to squeeze his fingers tighter and see what will happen. But he had been in this place once before, only that time instead of squeezing tighter, he had opened his hand and let go. Which is what he does this time.

A shudder runs through him and he exhales harshly, his back falling against the back of the chair as if he is a puppet whose stings were cut.

Hadrin rubs at his throat, a small, almost appreciative smile playing on his lips. “I haven’t had this much fun in centuries.” He states lightly, and Loki presses his lips tighter, settling for a murderous glare. Hadrin ignores it completely, his expression growing cold and hard. “But now is the time for business. Change.”

“What?” Loki asks, alarmed, his heart starting to beat rapidly.

“Change into your Jotun form.”

Loki starts to rise from the chair, fury building up inside hm. Fury and shame. “I will not-”

“Do you need my service or not?”

Loki shuts his mouth with a loud click, biting back a stream of insults and threats. He has no leverage here. And a bare minimum of power. He _needs_ Hadrin’s knowledge, for his own has failed him. Slumping back into the chair, Loki releases a deep breath. “Yes, I do.” He all but whispers, sounding resigned. Defeated.

“Then do as you are told.”

Loki clenches his hands into fists, his nostrils flaring, but he forces control over himself. He needs the dwarf’s help. Needs it. “May I ask why?”

“Payment, of course.” Hadrin replies without missing a beat. “Why else?”

Fury wells up inside his throat, and, for a moment, Loki sees red. “You insignificant little worm. If this is meant to humiliate me-”

Hadrin’s eyes widen in wonder, then he bursts into laughter, effectively cutting off the rest of Loki’s sentence. “For someone who refuses to be called a prince, you do think highly of yourself. What possible gain could I get from your humiliation?” Hadrin snorts, his mouth curving with derision. “Besides, I already see how you look beneath that charming Aesir illusion.”

“Then what is it you seek to gain?” Loki asks. What Hadrin said makes perfect sense. But what is it he wishes of him?

“Now I’m starting to doubt that intellect of yours. Magic, of course. How else do you think I have come up with most of my collection?” Hadrin says, sounding impatient. “Well? I do have other clients I need to devote my time to.”

Loki swallows, his throat feeling dry and raw with apprehension. And shame. Always shame. “I have never made use of… of _that_ magic.”

“You mean to say you don’t know how.” Hadrin states coolly. Then, for some reason, his expression softens minutely. “When you were born no one needed to show you how to breathe. It’s the same with this. It’s your birthright, it’s in your blood.”

Loki flinches at the mention of the word birthright and closes his eyes. Even after all this time, even after everything, there is still a shadow of his not-father lurking inside his mind. Perhaps he should have died on that frozen rock. It would certainly be better for everyone involved if he had. Even for _him_. But he had not.

Opening his eyes, Loki allows himself a smile – tight and forced. He has never wanted to do this deliberately. Not under any circumstances, and now… it doesn’t seem like he has a choice.

“I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I have other clients, Loki. Either do this or leave, the choice is yours.” Hadrin says levelly, leaning back in his chair.

Loki grimaces and looks down at his hands – pale skin, almost too pale, not even a hint of the cerulean. But it is there. He can hide it under an illusion, ignore it, despise it, but what he cannot do is make it disappear. 

When he tries to change, it is surprisingly easy. Much like Hadrin said, it comes natural, like taking a deep breath then releasing it slowly. The change starts with his fingers, a wave of cerulean spreading slowly, erasing the Aesir illusion. A flash of memory almost causes a bark of laughter to leave his mouth, but Loki manages to clench his teeth together. This is how his downward spiral had started – with his hand turning blue in the grip of a Jotun.

When it is done, Loki lifts his head, fixing Hadrin with a blank look. He feels strangely hollow, like all his emotions have suddenly fled – even anger, even shame – leaving him bereft of their familiar presence. Alone in his true skin. “It is done. Now what?”

“Do something. Create something. I’d think for someone with the moniker of Silvertongue you’d have a little more imagination.”

A spark of annoyance breaks through the hollow numbness of Loki’s chest, and he throws a glare at the dwarf, but Hadrin merely reaches inside his long, brown tunic, taking out something with much resemblance to a crystal globe.

“Well, go on.” Hadrin urges him with an impatient wave of his empty hand.

Taking another deep breath, Loki remembers Jotunheim, remembers the easy way the ice formed around Jotuns’ hands, taking the shape they deemed fit. He hesitates a moment, unsure whether he dreads the failure or success. But then he relaxes, closes his eyes and simply lets everything go. Nothing out of ordinary happens, only a slight shift in the temperature, but it works. Loki knows it.

“Now that’s more like it.”

Hadrin’s pleased voice jolts him out of his reverie, and when his eyes snap open, there is a cone of ice in his clenched right hand. Loki stares dully at the foreign object in his hand, unsure what to do. Or even what to feel.

But Hadrin takes the decision out of his hands, at least regarding the former. Moving faster than Loki would give him credit for, Hadrin rises from his chair and leans over Loki’s right hand. It takes Loki a moment to note that he is holding that crystal globe in his right hand.

“Open your hand.” He commands, and Loki obeys without a moment’s hesitation. He stares transfixed, as Hadrin places the globe directly over the ice in his hand. The globe shimmers with blue light and to Loki it seems like it is literally sucking the ice from his hand, until there is not even a trace of it in his hand. Releasing a satisfied ‘ha’, Hadrin takes step back, bringing the globe up proudly. Loki’s eyebrows rise in wonder as he stares at a swirling, blue cloud trapped inside Hadrin’s globe.

He reaches out, his fingers hesitatingly hovering an inch over the globe. “What is that?” He whispers, looking up at Hadrin, his voice sounding foreign to him – low, thin and amazed.

Hadrin’s face splits into a wide, self-satisfied grin. “That is Jotun magic… _your_ magic in its raw form.” Hadrin says, sounding proud, his brown eyes alight with satisfaction and something which looks almost like hunger. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Loki swallows, his famed wit leaving him bereft of words, his heartbeat a deafening noise in his ears, and no matter his will, he remains unable to draw his eyes away from the swirling blue magic trapped inside Hadrin’s globe – his magic.

_Beautiful._

“Well, now that that’s settled.” Hadrin says, snatching the globe back. Turning on his heel, he strides over to his shelf. He stands there a moment, a frown on his face, before he carefully places the globe between something that looks like an ordinary rock – only it is black as the night, with a strange, unsettling reddish glow – and what appears to be a star sculpted from some garish yellow substance.

Rubbing his hands together, Hadrin stays still a moment, no doubt admiring the new addition to his collection, and Loki uses that moment to come to his senses, throwing a glare at his hand, still hovering in the air. Clenching his hand into fist, he brings it down by his side, and, with a sharp intake of breath, changes back to his Aesir visage.

“Is it not the time for you to uphold your end of this transaction, dwarf?” Loki asks, glaring at Hadrin’s back.

“Oh, of course. Forgive me, but I always get excited when I add something new to my collection.” Hadrin says, turning, the corners of his mouth lifting when he notes Loki’s change, but he does not comment on it. Inclining his head to the side, he takes a long, assessing gaze of Loki. “The magic around you is strong. And trust me, I know. It hurts my eyes looking at you. Whoever had done this, is either truly powerful or was extremely stupid.”

“Extremely vengeful.” Loki says, with a half-shrug. “She is dead now.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Hadrin says bluntly. At Loki’s slightly surprised look, he adds. “I wold not feel comfortable knowing that there is someone out there who is able to spend the amount of magic it took to curse you… you know it is a curse, right? And remain alive.”

“But what kind of a curse?” Loki exclaims hotly, rising to his feet. “Nothing has happened. Nothing. I feel no differently than before. No harm has come to me. I am beginning to suspect Amora has failed in everything but slowly driv-”, Loki cuts himself off, taking a deep, calming breath, fixing Hadrin with a hard look. “Speak, dwarf. What is the nature of this curse?”

“Come closer.” Hadrin commands, and Loki obeys hesitating only a moment. He strides over to Hadrin, stopping a step away from the dwarf. “Your hand, please.” Hadrin says, holding out his own hand.

Loki’s gaze flicks from Hadrin’s face to his hand and back again. All his sources were in agreement of one thing about the dwarf – he sees magic, its essence and effect.

“There is something different about your curse.” Hadrin says, as if sensing Loki’s thoughts and suspicion. “I need to feel it for myself.”

“You can… _feel_ it?” Loki says, and he cannot help but feel a touch envious. But then he remembers that Hadrin cannot practice magic. He wonders how it must feel to see magic, knowing he will never be able to command it.

“It is a long story, and has much to do with another curse.” Hadrin says evenly, but there is a flash of something – _longing?_ – in the depths of his eyes. “Your hand.”

Slowly, Loki places his palm over Hadrin’s, his eyes fixed on the dwarf’s face, gauging his reaction.

“Hm, interesting.” Hadrin murmurs. “So that is why the other string… _Oh._ ”

“What is it?” Loki demands when Hadrin grows silent, his eyes widening in wonder. “Hadrin? Speak, dwarf.”

Slowly, Hadrin rises his gaze toward Loki’s face. “ _This_ … I have never seen a curse such as this one.”

A wave of dread washes over Loki, stilling his breath and heart alike. And for a moment, he does not even want to know. He wants to flee this place and never return, never think of this dwarf and the look of horrified wonder in his eyes ever again. But that would be a fool’s reaction, and a coward’s reaction, and Loki is neither.

“Well?” Loki all but growls, snatching his hand back. “I am growing tired of your silence and ramblings alike, dwarf. Either speak plainly, or I will test the enchantments placed on you.” Curling his mouth into a sneer, he adds softly. “The choice is yours.”

Hadrin blinks slowly, as if waking from a dream, allowing his hand to fall back to his side. He shakes his head, throwing another long and awed look at Loki, or, more accurately, at the magic surrounding him. “The one who cursed you, Amora? She either has a truly wicked sense of humour, or she had forfeited her life in vain.”

“ _Hadrin._ ”

“Calm down, I am getting there, it is just…” Shaking his head in disbelief, Hadrin’s face grows serious. “You are not the only one involved in this curse.”

_What?_

“What?” Loki says, frowning. “How can that… she has cursed _me_ , not anyone else.”

“I wish you could see how it looks… here,” Hadrin says, pointing at some place above Loki’s right shoulder. “Here is where it is the most obvious, another branch leading… well, I cannot believe where it’s leading.”

“I am at the end of my patience, dwarf. I have given you what you asked of me. Now I want the answer. What is the nature of the curse placed on me?”

“Well, you have been cursed with life, apparently.” At Loki’s low growl, Hadrin rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you what you wanted to hear. Your friend has cursed you so that you are basically stealing life from another. You get a day, he loses a week.”

Loki blinks, trying to process what Hadrin said. But why…? Why would Amora grant him a prolonged life? And who is the person on the wrong side of the curse?

_You get a day, he loses a week. He?_

A thought occurs to him, an awful and terrifying thought, and Loki wants to push it back to the back of his mind… no, to stop it from even forming fully. But it is too late, and Loki releases a choked off sound, staggering back as a face flashes in front of his mind’s eye. Familiar face. Face he knows even better than his own.

A tremor wracks his entire body, his throat filling with bile. She wouldn’t do that. Why would she do something ridiculous and pointless as that?

Taking a deep breath, Loki forces himself to calm down. He is somewhat successful. “You can tell who… who the other person is?” Loki asks, amazed how firm his voice sounds when he feels like he is more likely to collapse in a heap on the ground than remain upright.

A small, almost pitying smile appears on Hadrin’s lips, and Loki wants nothing more than tear it from his face. Along with his mouth. “You ask, and you already know.”

“ _Who?!”_ Loki demands, taking a threatening step forward, his hands clenched tightly into fists.

Hadrin remains unafraid, not moving an inch. “Very well, if you need it said, I will say it.” Hadrin’s voice comes out even, his eyes fixed on Loki’s face with an expression that is somehow both amused and merciless. “You are currently stealing life from a very powerful man. The current king of Asgard, Thor Odinson. I believe you know him.”

Loki blinks, then closes his eyes, his ears ringing with the sound of a triumphant laughter of a dead woman.


	2. Chapter 2

In the days after his meeting with the dwarf Hadrin, Loki’s life turns into a mathematic equation. Wherever he turns, he sees numbers. How many days have passed since Amora’s curse, how many weeks less of life Thor now has.

It is maddening. Even more so than the uncertainty had been.

He tries not to think of it. He does not bother to try to convince himself it brings him joy to know that every breath he takes slowly but surely brings Thor closer to his death. He is not that accomplished a liar.

But as much as Amora’s curse brings him no joy, it is not his responsibility to deal with the consequences. Not his doing, nor his fault. If anyone is to be blamed for this mess, it is Thor. If he were not so enamoured with Midgard that he felt the need to come to its aid when there had been no cause for it, everything would end smoothly – Amora would be dead, Thor would carry on ruling, blissfully unaware of how close he had come to being made a puppet, and Loki would go back to his little corner of the world in Vanaheim.

A happy ending for all. But of course it could not end like that. Not with Thor and his damnable ability to ruin everything. But this time, he is the one who will take the full brunt of consequences for his meddlesome behaviour.

So yes, Loki tries not to think of Thor’s time slowly ticking away. Tries not to see those damnable numbers everywhere. Tries… but fails. It feels like he is under another curse, this one placed on his eyes, and he cannot do a single thing to stop it. Just another in the long line of things that have happened to him he has no control over.

But as much as his daytime struggle is aggravating and makes him feel like one of those small Midgardian animals, trapped inside a giant wheel, running and running and running but getting nowhere, nights are worse. _Infinitely_ worse.

He does not recall his dreams, only snapshots of colours and an echo of a voice calling out in distress. But he wakes each night with a scream dying on his lips, shivering, his lungs heaving as he struggles to draw breath. And each night he does not fall asleep again. These days he does not bother going to sleep without the aid of the strongest sleeping potion. And yet… even with its aid, he wakes more tired than he had been before falling asleep, with a dull ache firmly centered in the middle of his chest. 

It is ridiculous, pathetic, has no sense or purpose, and it needs to _stop_. Only, there is only one way this… this _torment_ can end, and Loki does not want to even consider it.

It is somewhat ironic, though. After everything that has happened, after fleeing to another realm to lick his wounds, and staying – _mostly_ – away from of all things Asgardian, he is now tied more firmly to Thor than he has ever been.

Quite literally tied, according to that damned dwarf. Sometimes, he tries to see it, the way Hadrin saw it, tries to see the actual proof of what Amora has done to him… to _them_ , but when he stares at his reflection all he sees is a pale and gaunt face of a man with too many shadows in his eyes.

Amora must be howling with laughter from the bowels of Hel. Thor, wholly unawares that anything untoward has happened, is slowly approaching his doom, and Loki, aware of everything but longing for ignorance, is just as slowly and surely growing mad. Were he not consumed with the intense desire to bring her back to life only so he could rip her apart with his bare hands, Loki could even admire the double-edged cruelty of Amora’s curse.

But what stings the most about this entire ordeal is that, somehow, Amora _knew_. Knew how Loki would react. Not with malicious glee or triumph, but getting caught between his own conflicted feelings for the man he once called a brother. She knew him… knew him well enough to choose her vengeance accordingly, and she did not miss her mark. It grates on him to admit it, even to himself – or especially to himself – but she knew him better than he knew himself.

And _that_ is almost enough to sway him from his decided path. Almost. But he has allowed petty envy, bitterness and rage guide his actions for too long. It speaks volumes that the least emotional decision he had made since he manipulated Thor into marching into Jotunheim, had been stealing the throne of Asgard and ruling it in the guise of Odin. That too did not end well for him. He wanted too much, too impatient to wait and to establish the grounds of his rule, for reasons he cannot and will not examine deeper. Thor revealed his deception, beating and humiliating him in front of entire Asgard. He is still unsure whether that last hit from Mjölnir had been a miss on purpose, or an accident. Had Thor stayed his hand in the last moment and allowed Loki to run, or had it been a rare occasion in which the Norns have decided to grant him their favour. When he allows his thoughts to drift back to that moment in his life, recalling the look of rage and hurt on Thor’s face, his eyes holding nothing but storm clouds and lightning, Loki cannot decide which option he wishes to be true.

But it does not matter. One way or another. He owes Thor nothing. He will not give him more of himself than he already has. And if his decision means Thor’s death… well, so be it. The fool holds almost enough blame for this damnable curse as that bitch, may her soul writhe in agony forever.

But then one day, he drifts to sleep while reading, and, as always, his plans turn to dust in his hands.

******

_He is dreaming. It is… he is not sure how he knows it, but he knows it._

_He is back in Asgard, back in the palace, but he is lost, alone, and he is searching for someone… someone important to him. His thoughts are sluggish and clouded by panic, a sensation of dread coiled deep in the pit of his stomach._

_His eyes flick down to his hands and he frowns at how small they look, like they belong to a child, not a man. But why would they not be small? He is a child, not a grown man, and he will not be one for centuries to come. Not that it actually matters, he is not like Thor, impatient and petulant, eager for adulthood, dreaming of magical hammers and conquering…_

Thor.

_He halts, his heartbeat picking up speed as his dread finally takes a form. Where is his brother? He is always around here somewhere, the halls echoing loudly with his laughter and the sound of his steps. There is a presence to his brother, bright and warm and grand, making his brother seem larger and older than he is, causing Loki to feel even smaller than he is compared to Thor. Thor who is loud and boisterous and brash, who never listens to what Loki is telling him, Thor who… who…_

_… is missing._

_A distressed sound leaves his mouth, and Loki almost breaks into a run, urged by an irrational fear and an overpowering need to find Thor and make sure he is well._

_Something recoils inside him – he is not your brother, he is nothing but a nuisance to you, stop this pathetic charade – but Loki ignores the strange voice, harsh, vicious and so distressingly familiar, claiming the most absurd thing. Of course Thor is his brother, but where is he?_

_Now Loki does start running, or he tries to, his legs rebelling against his will, as if they are made of lead not muscle and bone. Clenching his teeth together, tears of fright and exertion streaming down his face, Loki persists, each step fractionally easier than the last until he is running down the long hall which has never been this long, almost as if it is somehow expanding, stretching into infinity._

_Loki stumbles, his knees hitting the ground, a scream of helpless frustration tearing from his throat as he bangs his clenched fists against the cool marble floor. He stays like that – on his knees, bent in half, his forehead almost touching the ground – for one long moment, trying to catch his breath and calm his turbulent mind. This is not right, Thor is never away when Loki needs him. He is always somewhere near, obnoxiously cheerful and loud, even when Loki wants peace and quiet. But not now, and that simply cannot be. He must be found, Loki will find him, and then… then… it matters little, Loki decides, what happens then, as long as he finds Thor._

_Slowly, he rises to his feet, his voice catching and almost breaking on the syllables of his brother’s name. “Thor? Thor, where are you? Thor?!”_

_He receives no answer, but the scenery shifts suddenly, the long corridor flickering briefly as it turns into a room – a room which is both familiar and foreign to him. It is Thor’s room, but it seems strangely barren, there is not a trace of Thor’s practice sword, nor his brother’s clothes scattered across the large bed. The room is void of the usual disorder Thor leaves after himself, of any sign of his brother tumultuous presence._

_Loki halts his steps, suddenly unsure of himself. This is Thor’s room, he could navigate it with his eyes closed, but it feels like it belongs to a stranger, and Loki finds himself unsure of his right to intrude. But it does not last long, it never does. If he allowed that feeling to stop him every time he found himself at the threshold leading to a room he should not enter, he would most likely never leave his own room._

_Swallowing, Loki clenches his hands into fists and squares his shoulders. Thor would not waver if it were the other way around, if Loki were the one who is lost. So Loki must not hesitate, he cannot be less brave than Thor._

_He takes a hesitant step forward, then another, and another, and then he freezes on the spot, his eyes widening as they catch on the sight of a man standing with his back turned to Loki._

_Loki’s heart skips a beat, outrage and fear fighting for dominance inside him, as he contemplates whether to call out the stranger for daring to trespass into his brother’s room, or to flee. But then the strangers turns, and Loki’s eyes widen his breath catching in his throat as he recognizes…_

_… his brother._

_It is Thor. Older, dressed in warrior’s armour, his hair long and beard covering his jaw. He looks like he had stepped right out of the tales of heroes of old, grand and imposing and truly magnificent._

_But the eyes – blue and clear and twinkling with joy – eyes remain the same. Conveying the same deep fondness and warmth Loki is used to seeing in the younger version._

_“Thor?” He whispers, uncertain. He wants to close the space that separates him from his brother and touch him, needing to feel the warmth of his skin, an undisputed proof of Thor being alive, no matter his new form. But he feels something holding him back, a sensation of guilt and shame, even anger. But why would he feel that? He is never angry at Thor. Not even when he bursts into his room, uninvited, without bothering to knock, intent on dragging Loki out of his room and into the training grounds. “Is that truly you?”_

_Thor smiles at that, wide and impossibly bright. “Do you not recognize your own brother?” He says, a trace of laughter clinging to his words, and Loki feels his own lips widening in a grin. “Surely not my clever little brother.”_

_Thor spreads his arms open, a clear invitation, and Loki does not hesitate anymore. He breaks into a run, all his fear and anguish melting under the warmth’s of Thor’s gaze. He is only a step away from Thor, from being enveloped inside his arms, when the expression on Thor’s face changes into one of sorrow, the smile on his lips turning wistful. Loki freezes in his tracks, his heart starting to beat wildly against his chest._

_“Thor?” Loki breathes out. “What is the matter?”_

_“Why did you do it, brother?” Thor asks, and he does not sound angry or even hurt, only infinitely sad. “Why did you allow me to die?”_

_Loki opens his mouth, but the words die on his lips when Thor’s face starts to dissolve into dust in front of Loki’s eyes, and Loki stands rooted to the spot, unable to move or even breathe, watching helplessly as his brother disappears into nothingness only a step away, and he can only scream, and scream, and scream, until…_

He wakes up.

One moment, Loki sits paralyzed, the last seconds of his dream still too vivid, the horror of watching Thor’s face crumble into dust a heavy, leaden weight settled firmly in the pit of his stomach. But his stillness lasts only a moment, anger and frustration making his blood heat up in his veins. 

Throwing the book across the room, Loki rises to his feet and starts pacing, his entire body wracked with tremors. This time, Loki remembers everything from his dream, even the smallest details – the curve of Thor’s lips as he smiled, the warm glint of his eyes and the way Loki could still discern the saddened expression of Thor’s face even when there was no face for him to see. Only a crumbling statue, made entirely out of dust.

Stopping abruptly and covering his face with his hands, Loki presses his palms firmly against his mouth, his fingers digging deep into the skin of his forehead.

“Damn you, Amora, and damn _you_ , Thor.” He mutters brokenly. “Damn you both to Hel.”

 _And damn me as well_.

******

“Need I remind you that your life depends on the next words coming out of your mouth?” Loki smiles pleasantly, twirling his dagger casually. “So make sure to choose them carefully.”

The elf’s gaze flicks from Loki’s face to the dagger, the expression of dread and panic etched onto every feature of his face. “I have already said all I knew.” The elf manages to force past his trembling lips, taking a step back. The look of startled surprise on his face when his back hits the wall would be priceless in any other occasion, but not this time. This time Loki is no mood for games. He needs only one thing, and it is slowly dawning on him that the elf might not be in possession of it. “I could try, but…”

Loki takes a step forward, then another. He is livid with anger and impatience, and the look of wide-eyed terror on the elf’s face does not help the matters. If anything, it only makes everything worse. “I have been led to believe you are somewhat capable in breaking of curses. Have I been misinformed?” Loki says evenly.

The elf’s eyes flick back to the dagger still in Loki’s hand, and Loki huffs out an impatient sigh and, with a flick of his wrist, banishes it into one of many hidden pockets inside his armour. The elf’s fear lessens fractionally at that, his posture still tense and eyes wide and frantic, but at least now he manages to return Loki’s gaze. “Your information is correct.” He says slowly, carefully choosing his words. “I have been doing it for the largest part of my life. My mother taught me.”

“Then why waste time when it is somewhat precious to me.” Loki smiles, but the elf – _Elric?_ – remains all but glued to the wall, resembling a trapped animal. Loki swallows a growl. There are others out there with far more power, more skilled to aid Loki in fixing Amora’s mess than this snivelling elf, but they would most likely demand more than Loki is able to give, or would outright attack him. “Do not think your effort would go unrewarded.”

“I could try, but I’m afraid…” The elf trails off, suddenly unable to meet Loki’s gaze.

Loki forces his voice and expression to calm. He had made a mistake when he tried intimidation. This elf is not a threat, could never be one, but ever since his fall from Bifrost, Loki has not been in a position where he could afford to show any, no matter how small, hint of weakness or fear. He had been wrong with this elf, and now he is reduced to a pathetic, trembling excuse for a magician, concerned only for prolonging his existence.

“Speak, Elric, I mean you no harm.” Loki says, and takes two steps back, giving the elf space and time to gather himself.

Elric stands still a moment, looking at Loki as if he expects this to be a trick, followed by a sudden attack. Loki cannot help but wonder just how dark his reputation has become. But when Loki makes no threatening move, the elf relaxes, fear and naked panic receding from his face. But not completely, and this makes Loki’s chest tighten in anticipation of bad news.

“I have made an end to many curses in my life, but never one as potent as you described.” Elric says finally, his voice coming out surprisingly even, despite the fear still lingering in his gaze. At Loki’s sharp intake of breath, he adds, rising his hands in a placating gesture. “But that doesn’t mean I would not be able to do it. In time and after some preparation.”

Loki’s vision flashes red at the absurdity of the elf’s words and he takes a step forward, his mouth curving into a sneer. “Some preparation?” Loki repeats, and he can almost taste the fear radiating off the elf. “Do you think I would be here had I time for preparation? Negotiating with a worthless, second rate magician? I would have done it myself.”

“I just need time.”

“And time is something I cannot afford to lose.” Loki sneers, his fingers wrapping around the elf’s throat, lifting him off the ground. The elf’s hands wrap around Loki’s wrists in a futile attempt at loosening his grip, his eyes mortified. “Or have I somehow made myself unclear?”

The elf struggles in his grip a moment longer, and Loki tightens his grip. The elf’s eyes grow almost comically wide as he starts struggling for breath. “Please… killing… killing me won’t… end the curse.”

Loki’s lips curl with disgust. “Perhaps not. But it will make me feel better.”

The elf now starts struggling in earnest, and Loki is somewhat amused by how he is relying on only his muscles, not even considering to use magic. Not that it either would do him much good. It lasts a moment, the look of panic turning to mortal dread on the elf’s face, and Loki suddenly feels cold and weary. _Ill._

With a disgusted growl, Loki releases his hold on the elf, snatching his hand back as if the elf’s skin is poisonous, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

The elf’s sways when his feet touch the ground, but he remains upright, leaning against the wall for support, panting. After a moment his breathing calms, his hand flying to his throat, massaging it gently. The look the throws at Loki is filed with hatred, fear and caution, but Loki could not care less for what this pathetic elf thinks of him.

But his words are true. Killing him would not end the curse. It would not even make Loki feel any better. Despite his claim. There is nothing to be gained from ending Elric’s life – no glory, no honour, no power… nothing. And what brief outlet for Loki’s rage and helpless frustration it could present, it is not worth it. No matter his former deeds, he is not a mindless killer.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Loki’s eyes flick down to his hands, narrowing in agitation when he notes that they are trembling. With a tight press of his lips, Loki clenches his hands into fists.

This has been a waste of time. He should have known better. Better than to seek the aid of someone with so little power. But those with _real_ power… well, they are more likely to use it to worsen the situation, not to help Loki break the curse. Which leaves Loki with two choices – dealing with the curse in silence and secret, keeping Thor in the dark. But that will take time, how much of it, Loki cannot be certain, and time, time is a precious commodity for him now, too much of it already wasted. The other option… Loki loathes even thinking of it. Having to face Thor and tell him the truth. Then what? Would Thor even believe his words? And if he did… would he ask the question Loki himself does not know the answer to?

_Why?_

Why even bother to break the curse? Because of a few sleepless nights and a recurring nightmare? Because of the past? Past that is nothing more than a silver lie, an illusion conjured up by a mind far more calculating and devious than Loki could ever hope to become.

Thor is not his brother. He never was. Even before Jotunheim and all that followed, even when he called Thor brother and believed the word to be true, an abyss already existed between them, filled with resentment and envy on one, and disregard and misunderstandings on the other. And now? After the Bifrost and New York? After Svartalfheim? If there is a word to define what they are now, it could be enemies, even if Loki has not done anything overtly malicious or threatening since their last encounter in Asgard. But Thor’s appearance in New York is statement all on its own. They _are_ enemies, and enemies do not save each other’s lives. They take them.

Loki swallows a derisive snort and shakes his head. But it is _Thor_ , and nothing – _nothing_ – ever has been simple and clear in regards to Loki’s feelings and actions concerning his once-brother. Not before Jotunheim, and even less now.

Drawn out of his thoughts by a low shuffling noise, Loki snaps his eyes toward the elf. He had almost forgotten about his presence. Obviously encouraged by no immediate threat, the elf has gotten himself more or less under control, the look in his eyes now more calculating than terrified, despite that his fingers are still lingering on his throat.

“What happens now?”

Loki is not sure whether he is asking about his fate or the curse, or both. The answer to the first is easy, as for the second… it is anything but.

“I will not end your pathetic life.” Loki says evenly, and there is an almost palpable relief radiating off the elf. “But I cannot have you walking around with such a dangerous knowledge inside your head.”

The elf pales when Loki takes a step forward, rising his hands in a gesture which could be both defensive and aggressive, but Loki ignores it, just as he ignores the pleas falling from the elf’s lips, even if he does not even know what is he pleading for.

He closes the space between himself and the elf in three long strides, grasping his face firmly between his palms. He struggles briefly on instinct, and this time Loki can sense a faint crackle of magic surging from his struggling captive.

“Please.” Elric tries for the last time, but then Loki’s palms flare with green light, and the elf’s pleas turn to cries.

******

Loki chooses a town at random. He has no idea of its name, only that its location is sufficiently far from New York and its pesky defenders. As much as Midgard’s technology has evolved, to travel from one side of the world to the other in the space of moments is a feat only rare few can accomplish.

But, then again, Loki is staging this entire ridiculous charade for one of those rare few.

He is standing on the rooftop of one of the taller buildings, silently observing the traffic and droves of unsuspecting mortals below, going about their daily routine, blissfully unaware of what is to come. But not for long. 

A part of Loki is furious for being driven to this. For having to stage a performance so he could draw Thor’s attention. But what is he to do? It is not like he can appear in Asgard and request a formal meeting. At least by pursuing this course of action, he knows he will have Thor’s undivided attention. Thor loves this realm too much to ignore it being put in peril, and if his appearance in New York is a testament to anything, it is that he obviously considers himself responsible for bringing Loki to heel. Which means that Loki only has to stir up a sufficient amount of trouble and Thor will come crashing down from the sky, no matter his current duties as the king of Asgard.

Loki has no love for this realm, and he would be the last one to claim he does not enjoy causing mischief only to revel in the ensuing chaos, but he still hesitates. He does not wish to see Thor, and he dreads having to explain what Amora has done. But he has to do it. He sees no other way. He could try to break the curse on his own, but time is working against him. Besides, Thor is the king of Asgard, beloved and respected across almost all realms, he has access to resources Loki can only dream of, and only a fool would pass up the opportunity to have Thor Odinson in their debt, so if anyone can undo Amora’s work it is Thor himself. 

Sighing, Loki closes his eyes. The sooner he does this, the sooner the fool will come, and Loki will have this responsibility off his shoulders. He will go back to Vanaheim, and…

_Back to what? Wasting day after day in a meaningless existence after sitting on the throne of Asgard? Hiding like an animal in a hole, while Thor rules over Asgard? Why are you even considering this? Why not let him die so you could finally be rid of him?_

With a low growl, Loki opens his eyes. He wishes he could listen to that voice. Norns know he had tried. But at what cost? Sleepless nights? Hiding behind a sleeping potion like a weakling and a coward? Days spent trying but failing to ignore the other voice, the one that speaks of ties that are not real? Of envisioning the look of sadness and disappointment in his… in Frigga’s eyes?

No, Loki had tried, but found the cost not to his liking. He could try again, but, in the end, it all comes down to a simple fact, a fact Loki cannot deny, no matter how skilled a liar he is. He hates Thor, but he does not hate him enough. Not enough to stand aside and allow his death.

Prolonging this situation makes no sense. He needs to do what he has come to do, leave this wretched realm and forget this unfortunate mess ever occurred. Not stand indecisive like an utter fool, tangled in apprehension and doubts.

Glancing at the sky – _I truly hate you, Thor_ – Loki flicks his wrist. Only a few moments later, screaming begins.

******

It takes Thor longer than Loki thought it would take him to arrive, and, by then, there is chaos all around. Apparently, the populace of this part of Midgard does not come equipped with a super-hero team of its own, and is somewhat lacking in speed and efficiency when reacting to animated statues wreaking havoc through the town’s centre. Or yet unseen variety of wild animals set loose on the local populace.

Loki is not aiming for human casualties, but with all the chaos and a few token explosions, there are bound to be some. And the numbers will only grow, the longer it takes for Thor to respond.

And it is already taking the fool too long. Long enough that Loki is starting to doubt Thor’s dedication to this realm and its populace. Not even the sight of complete and utter chaos down below is giving Loki even the faintest sense of satisfaction. It only strengthens his belief how messy, loud and fragile humans are. What does Thor see in them, he will never know.

And then, when Loki truly starts to grow concerned that he has miscalculated, finally – _finally_ – in a flash of light, Thor appears.

And he is furious. Almost as he had been the last time they fought.

When the lights of the Bifrost recede, Thor takes one glance of his surroundings and Loki almost misses the moment he hurls Mjölnir with eerie precision and terrifying strength at Loki.

The illusion shimmers and disappears, and Loki steps out of the shadows behind Thor.

“That would have been painful had it truly been me.” Loki says, grimacing. He is not sure which option is less welcome. That Thor knew it was only an illusion, or that he thought it to be Loki and threw Mjölnir at him anyway. Neither option bodes well for Loki, both giving too much ground to Thor. Ground Loki cannot afford to lose.

Thor does not look surprised when he turns to face Loki, Mjölnir dutifully returning to his outstretched hand. So… Thor knew it had been only an illusion, but considering the way his eyes are alight with fury, there is reasonably high chance of Thor repeating the action, this time aiming for real Loki.

“It still could.” Thor says in a low voice, his eyes turning almost grey with anger. But, despite his words and battle stance, he stays his hand. Opting for words. Words are good. As long as Thor demands explanations or throws accusations, he will not be throwing anything else at Loki’s head. “What is this new madness, Loki? What could you possibly gain from _this_?” Thor all but growls the last word, pointing at the town square. 

Loki sneaks a quick glance at the chaos below. One of the statues is still wandering aimlessly and crushing abandoned vehicles in the process. By now the forces of justice have established a modicum of order, keeping the civilians out of harm’s way and a tight ring of armoured vehicles around the square and the giant animated statue. There are sounds of faraway explosions and he can see that some of the fires have not yet been extinguished. With a sigh, Loki waves his arm and the statue freezes on the spot. As for the rest of the chaos… Midgardians have shown an admiring capability at adapting and improvising. He is fairly certain they will clean what still remains of Loki’s mess. Eventually.

Thor remains still and silent, his narrowed gaze resting on Loki unflinchingly, looking torn between anger and suspicion. “Ten years of peace are the best you can accomplish, Loki?” Thor says, the corner of his lips curving in disappointment and disdain. “Is there a purpose to this mindless destruction? Or have you simply grown bored?”

Loki smiles, but it is a strained and thin smile. “I needed to speak with you.” He says simply, and Thor blinks in shock, and Loki can almost see him connecting the dots inside his head, as shock turns to realization which then morphs into an all-out fury. Loki expects it, and it is the only reason he manages to fling himself out of Mjölnir’s way. But Thor follows suit, his speed almost catching Loki unawares. Loki knows Thor is fast for someone of his bulk, but out of the two of them, even without magic, Loki has always been faster. This time, though, only by fraction of a moment. Thor almost manages to catch him, his fingers brushing against Loki’s chest as Loki teleports himself on the far side of the rooftop.

“I said speak, not fight, Thor.” Loki manages to force through gritted teeth, his chest rising with heavy breaths. He had anticipated Thor doubting the sincerity of his words, but he had not anticipated Thor not giving him the chance to actually speak them.

Thor stays silent, his jaw clenched tight with resolve, and when Mjölnir returns to him once again, he rises his hand again. “You admit to causing all this chaos and pointless destruction only to have me come to you, and still you expect me to hear your words?” Thor all but growls, and Loki almost flinches at how cold and harsh his voice sounds. “Keep your venom to yourself, Loki, I have drunk my fill of it. Enough to last me for centuries.”

When Thor rears back, intent on hurling Mjölnir again, Loki makes a decision. It is a hasty decision, spurred on by desperation and helpless frustration, and could end up costing him much, but all this will be for naught if he does not force Thor to listen to him. Rising his hands in a gesture of surrender, he fixes Thor with an open look. “ _Please_ , Thor.” The words leave his mouth as nothing more than a whisper, leaving a bitter taste behind. His heart is beating wildly against his chest, each beat followed by a surge of dread and panic rising from the pit of his stomach.

Thor freezes, hand still poised to strike at Loki, and for a long and terrifying moment, Loki is certain he had made a terrible mistake. Thor had warned him once that he no longer sees him as a brother. He had been lying then, but much has happened since that lie. Enough to put an end to Thor’s seemingly endless tenacity, making him give up on the one he called brother for so long, which Thor had proved the last time they fought. And still Loki decided on this course of action. He had underestimated Thor for the last time, and now he will pay the price for his own stupidity, only…

The blow does not come.

Relaxing minutely, Loki forces his breathing to calm, his eyes fixed firmly on Thor’s face, trying to divine his thoughts. He can still recall the time when Thor’s face had been an open book for him to read. But that time had passed, and the man standing a few feet away, no matter how familiar he might seem, is not the brother Loki had once known. Before, Loki could easily predict at least three moves Thor is about to make, now, Loki cannot even predict one. He can only hope for a trace of that old, foolish sentimentality that has always been Thor’s greatest weakness to dull the edge of Thor’s fury. 

Thor looks like an impossibly lifelike statue. A statue of a warrior, ready to strike at his enemy, body coiled tight, eyes glinting with fury and deadly intent. But then, with a low growl, Thor drops Mjölnir, and he is striding toward Loki, the muscles in his jaw twitching. Loki steels himself for impact, forcing back the urge to flee or defend himself, but then it is too late for flight as two strong hands grip him by his coat, all but lifting him off the ground.

“What right do you have, Loki?” Thor snarls at him. Loki allows Thor to haul him forward, even if all his instincts are demanding escape. Thor’s rage has always been a thing to behold, but not up this close and directed solely at him. “What right to demand anything of me?”

Loki grimaces, but does not try to break free from Thor’s grip. This is a dangerous ground they are on, and even if Mjölnir is lying abandoned a few feet away, Thor can call it back at any moment, the anger radiating off him almost palpable. Regret curls around Loki’s heart, and Loki finds himself in an unusual and disconcerting position of being unable to choose his next words. Whatever he says now will probably only add more fuel to Thor’s righteous anger, which leaves Loki with only one path – the truth.

“I have been cursed.” Loki breathes out, and along with the words, a heavy weight lifts off his chest, making him able to breathe freely for the first time since Hadrin revealed the effects of Amora’s curse.

Thor’s eyes widen in shock, and, for a briefest of moments, Loki can see something akin to worry in Thor’s eyes, but it is a fleeting sentiment, replaced all too soon with cold and unflinching stare.

Thor releases his hold on Loki, the unexpectedness of it making Loki take a stumbling step back before righting himself. He shoots a glare at Thor, but his annoyance withers away under Thor’s gaze, utterly void of sentiment.

“And what interest do I have in it?” Thor asks. “Should I be concerned?” His lips forming a mirthless smile, he adds. “No doubt, you have brought it on yourself. Considering how little regard you have for anyone but yourself, you should not be surprised when you are forced to reap the consequences of your actions.”

“But I am not the one reaping them.”

Loki’s outburst earns him nothing more than narrowing of Thor’s eyes. “After all this time, you still think me a fool?” Thor snorts, his lips curving in a parody of his usual bright smile.

“My opinion of you is hardly relevant.” Loki snaps, growing increasingly desperate. “And you would do well to listen to me.”

“The last time I listened to you, you have made me believe you are dead.” Thor says flatly, and Loki winces. “You left me to mourn a brother who I thought had died in my arms, laughing at me from the throne you stole from ou-… father.” Each word that falls from Thor’s lips feels like a slap to Loki’s face, hardening Thor’s expression. Even if that little slip hangs in the air between hem, both accusation and hope. “So, tell me, Loki, how big a fool you truly consider me to be?”

“You will die if you choose to ignore me, Thor, and no amount of self-righteousness or arrogance will help you.” Loki says, each word coated in anger and despair alike. But as the threads of self-control slip steadily from Loki’s grasp, the more composed Thor becomes. “That is the effect of the curse, I live longer at your expense.”

Thor regards him silently before the corner of his mouth lifts upwards, and he chuckles humourlessly. “After all this time, and this is to be the lie to ensnare me once again in one of your games. I expected better from you.”

Loki takes a deep breath, grasping for some clever argument, for something to make Thor believe him, but if the truth has failed him, what chance do lies have?

“You were there when it happened. In New York. Are you going to deny what you saw with your own eyes?”

“I saw you disregard safety and peace of those who have done you no harm.” Thor says coldly, and the tone sends a shiver down Loki’s spine. “And I saw you murder someone you deemed worthy being your occasional ally.” Fixing Loki with a level stare, Thor rises his eyebrows. “And then I saw you run. Have I missed something?”

Anger flares in the hollow of his chest, and Loki clenches his jaw tightly. It would be so easy to leave now and allow Thor to suffer the consequences of his stubbornness and arrogance. He _wants_ to do it. With an intensity that leaves him almost gasping for breath. But he does not.

“I have come to this wretched rock to warn you, you fool.” Loki hisses. “I stand to gain nothing if you heed my warning.”

_And I have risked much already._

“I have long since given up on trying to unravel the paths of your mind, Loki.” Thor states calmly, and Loki wishes nothing more than to claw that composed expression off his face.

Not breaking eye contact with Loki, Thor opens his hand. No more than a heartbeat later, Mjölnir flies into Thor’s waiting hand, and Loki takes a step back before he has a chance to stop himself. A flicker of a smile ghosts over Thor’s lips, and then it is gone, replaced by solemn resolve.

“I should take you back to Asgard with me to face justice, but I will not. Not this time. You have been keeping yourself at peace for ten years, so I am giving you a chance to do it again.” Thor says evenly, and Loki narrows his eyes at Thor’s matter-of-fact tone. “And speaking of warnings… you should heed _mine_. For it is the last one I am granting you.” Loki’s heart skips a beat, only to continue beating a wild rhythm against his chest as the realization dawns. It was all in vain. The humiliation of coming here and pleading with Thor… all for nothing.

“Thor, you will regret not believing me.” Loki tries, one last time, but his words fall on deaf ears. 

“I have regretted many things concerning you, Loki. But now I am done.” The words fall between them like a crack of thunder, and Loki grows cold. Thor truly means it this time. Whatever lingering sentiment Thor harboured for him no longer exist, and Loki cannot even summon enough strength to process that thought. He merely stares dumbly at Thor, as dull ache starts to spread from the middle of his chest. “If you ever do what you have done today, I will have no mercy for you. Not even for Mother’s sake. If you value your life, let this be the last time we face each other, Loki.”

With one last glance at Loki, Thor rises his eyes to the sky, a low whisper of ‘Heimdall’ falling from his lips.

Loki’s eyes widen in panic, but he has only enough time to take one step forward, reaching out toward Thor, before Thor disappears in a flash of light, leaving Loki behind, his outstretched hand grasping nothing but air.

******

First two days after the failure with Thor, Loki spends in a daze. He resembles more a ghost than a man, a silent shadow haunting his home in Vanaheim, Thor’s words and expression a constant presence inside his mind.

He did not expect Thor to outright dismiss him. He expected anger and suspicion, but he never imagined that their encounter will end up with him staring at the empty spot Thor had been occupying mere seconds ago, his hand grasping at nothing.

Much like Thor has done so many times in the past.

And then, on the third day, in the space between two heartbeats, an emotion surges through him – anger. White-hot and all-encompassing, inflaming his blood and making every intake of breath a struggle.

The fool chose not to believe him. After all the lies and manipulation, Thor chose to ignore him the one time he spoke the truth. The irony would be amusing any other time, but not now. Not when Loki yearns to make Thor choke on the words he flung at him. After Loki had humbled and humiliated himself on Midgard. Like a pet performing in hopes of drawing his master’s attention.

He needs a way to make Thor see the truth, but he has no idea how to accomplish that. He spends an entire day pacing like a caged beast, trying to find the solution, rejecting one idea after the other. But then, like a flash of lightning, it occurs to him, and he stops cold in his tracks, his lips curving into a toothy grin.

There is a way to _make_ Thor see the truth, and, ironically, Amora is the key figure in Loki’s plan.

******

Loki eyes Amora’s house with a frown. It is entirely unremarkably built, fitting well with other houses along the narrow street. It lacks the decadence and grandeur of Amora’s usual choice of lodgings, but has all the necessary attributes of a hiding place.

It had been a chance. Or another play Norns have devised for him, Loki cannot tell, but Amora had chosen this house to hide in while attempting to get her hands on Thor for yet another time. And it had been a good plan, Loki has to admit that, good enough to make Loki believe that it could actually work. It might have worked, had it not been for the fact that Amora’s hiding place was located near the place Loki has been living in hiding for the last five years.

Amora’s magic had never been a trifling thing, but never powerful enough to actually make Loki concerned about the outcome of their eventual falling out. It took Loki almost two months to discover the reason for Amora’s appearance in this part of the Nine Realms. He can still recall the cold fury at the thought of Thor – bound and helpless – completely at the mercy of Amora’s magic, all his power and raw strength amounting to nothing. It is how his chase started, with a myriad of emotions sparking to life inside his chest, each one tangled deep with the next. Each one demanding Amora’s blood.

And it ended on Midgard, with Amora’s death, and one last act of spite and revenge which has led him back here, where it all started. And where it all could end, if the Norns smile at him this time and grant him their favour by allowing him to find that what he is looking for.

Loki crosses the street casually, cloaked in shadows. Perhaps unnecessary, but he is not willing to discard the persona he had constructed when he first came here. His infamy may not be widespread here as it is on Asgard and Midgard, but his name stands for lies, deceit and trickery, even here.

He approaches the door carefully, but his caution stands unfounded. There are no wards placed on the door, only a lingering trace of magic Loki now knows intimately, like a fading spark of electricity.

With a frown of disgust, Loki places his hand on the door. A few whispered words later, the door opens under his touch and Loki slips hurriedly inside.

The air inside is stale and stuffy, particles of dust visible in the small patch of light coming from the crack in the blinds. Shadows dance in the corners of the room, and the silence feels heavy and stifling, and Loki can almost imagine an entirely different scenario playing itself in this very room. One where Amora succeeds in subduing Thor’s will and moulding it to her liking. An involuntary shiver runs down Loki’s spine, like a slow drag of icy fingers along his skin. Thor Odinson turned into a broken puppet, dancing to Amora’s tune. Even the thought seems wrong.

With a low growl, Loki waves his right hand, illuminating the room, his breathing speeding up. He can feel Amora’s presence, the stain of her residual magic responding to the curse clinging to Loki’s skin. Here, he can almost sense the slow drag of time slip away from Thor and mix with his own.

“Fool.” He whispers in disgust. He never used to be this maudlin, priding himself on being the practical one. Now, it almost seems as if Thor’s foolish sentimentality had somehow transferred to him.

Pressing his lips tightly together, Loki takes a look of his surroundings. The interior of the house is sparsely decorated, with only minimum of furniture. It could shorten his search even if he is seriously doubting Amora chose a cupboard to store in a magical item of considerable power.

Closing his eyes, Loki takes a deep, steadying breath. He cannot even be sure what he seeks is here. Perhaps Amora moved it to another place before fleeing Vanaheim. Perhaps she had been lying about procuring it in the first place. Perhaps someone already ransacked this place and found it.

Perhaps, perhaps, _perhaps_.

Useless word, almost as useless as unease and uncertainty holding him in place. But he dreads making the first step. As long as he stays still, there is still hope for his plan to work. But when he makes the first step, then the rest will follow, and, for good or bad, he will know the answer. And, thanks to Thor’s stubbornness, this is his best – only – chance to make Thor see reason, and finally recover peace of mind Amora had robbed him of. 

Anger surges through him. At himself for being a fool. At Amora for cursing him, and, finally, at Thor for not believing him. He had been living a dull, but relatively peaceful existence before he first glimpsed Amora entering this house. And now, he is once again dragged into Thor’s orbit, a small moon revolving around a bright sun, and he is not sure whom he hates more for it – himself or Thor.

But there is something Loki cannot deny. Despite everything, he cannot recall feeling this alive in long time. Having a purpose, even if it centers on Thor, is far better than licking his wounds in silence, seeing nothing waiting for him on the horizon – good or bad.

His eyes shooting open, Loki lifts his hands, tendrils of magic surging outward from his splayed palms, searching for any magical object in his closest vicinity.

Loki is not sure what he expects to happen, a protective spell surrounding the object he seeks in the best case, finding nothing in the worst. But what he does not expect is having his magic coil around an ordinary steel box, left precariously on the small writing desk in the corner of the room.

Loki closes his hands, frowning at the box. He knows that, sometimes, the best hiding place is in plain sight, but this would be taking it to the extreme. And yet… in a way it would make sense.

He approaches the box cautiously, expecting a trap, or the box to simply disappear in a veil of smoke, his heart rate spiking with every cautions step he takes forward. But nothing happens. There are no traps and the box is solid under the touch of Loki’s trembling fingers. He hesitates only a moment, his breath hitching as he pries the lid open, expecting…

… everything but what he finds.

A startled laugh tears from his lips as his eyes take in the sight of silver manacles, lying on the bottom of the box. Surely the Norns cannot have changed their mind about him so completely. He had hoped for a bit of luck, but this is skirting the edges of a miracle. Slowly, he reaches after them, a part of his mind refusing to believe what his eyes are telling him. Refusing to accept that it had been this easy to find the manacles capable of blocking magic and compelling the wearer to another’s will. Loki is no stranger to existence of such objects, he had a pair clasped to his wrists on more than one occasion. But those manacles could only block his magic, not control him. These, on the other hand.

His fingers hesitate a second before lifting the manacles from the box. They look completely unremarkable, two thin rings made out of polished steel, and Loki knows that no one would look twice at them, mistaking them for rather unremarkable jewelry. No one but those who know how powerful are the hidden runes inscribed on the underside of the twin rings. Powerful enough to bring even the most powerful men in the Nine Realms to their knees.

Tightening his hold on the manacles in his hand, Loki takes a deep breath, and smiles.

******

There is a fairly high chance that he has grown mad. What else but madness could explain why he is risking his life as he hides in the shadows of a long corridor leading to Thor’s private chambers.

He has an advantage of knowing the halls of Hlidskjalf like the palm of his hand, and he has been testing the limits of Heimdall’s sight and Odin’s magic from the first time he had managed to blend with the shadows, obscuring himself from view. But that makes his enterprise only slightly less a madman’s endeavour.

Fortunately, there are no new wards being added to the palace. It makes him feel even slightly offended after he had successfully overthrew Odin and seized his throne. No matter how temporary. But, as he himself is aware, only a madman – a very desperate one at that – would dare to infiltrate the very heart of Asgard and attempt an attack on their powerful king.

King, who, for some reason, is not occupying the royal bedchamber. Which Loki now knows, for he had found it empty and void of any lingering presence, almost like no one has been sleeping there since Loki had been occupying it, disguised as Odin. Leave it to Thor to make everything difficult for Loki even with something as simple as his sleeping arrangements.

The sound of even footsteps jolts Loki out of his reverie, and he takes a step back, wrapping himself more firmly in shadows, his heart starting to beat faster. The guard passes him by without hesitation or even a cursory glance, walking only a step away from Loki’s hiding place. Loki’s lips curve into a grin. It is almost like he is back in the past, not quite a boy, but far from being a man, sneaking through the wide halls of his home on his way to meet his brother, a barely controlled excitement making his hands tremble.

But he is not a boy, nor does he have a home or a brother anymore. And if he makes even the slightest misstep tonight, he risks more than being on the receiving end of stern glares and a speech about responsibility. He risks losing his freedom. Perhaps even his life.

The grin fades from Loki’s lips and he swallows against the dryness of his throat. He must not linger needlessly. Especially not to reminisce about something that was never real. Glancing down the corridor and finding it empty, Loki takes a deep breath, and steps forward as the shadows around him coil and shift and suddenly he is not standing in the wide and well lit corridor but a darkened room, the only source of light a thin patch of starlight coming from the opened window.

Casting a glance at the seemingly empty room, Loki suddenly finds himself unable to move, his feet denying him their obedience, and Loki is truly amazed that Einherjar are not already charging at him considering the deafening beat of his heart.

Even if Thor’s bedchamber is submersed in almost complete darkness, Loki can recognize each and every item in the room, and it does seem like he had inadvertently stepped into the past and any moment now, Thor would come barging at him from the shadows, a wide smile on his lips and a bright twinkle in his eyes.

He is not sure how long would he remain standing frozen on the spot, like a fool that he obviously is, were it not for the low sigh coming from the direction of the large bed.

Cursing himself inwardly, Loki manages to gather himself. Slowly, he crosses the space that separates him from the bed and its occupant, and with each step, he feels hysterical laughter building inside his throat. The surrealism of this situation somehow surpasses everything Loki has lived through so far, and, even if Norns seem to favour him this time, there is a part of Loki’s mind that is shouting panicked warnings at him. Loki ignores it and continues his slow and cautious progress until his feet bring him to the foot of Thor’s bed.

The last time he saw Thor, there was fury on his face. Fury and cold disregard. Now, relaxed with sleep and illuminated by the silver light coming from outside, Thor’s face seems gentler, the hard lines of his face softened by slumber. His hair lies in tangled mess on the pillow, next to his right hand, and Loki suddenly wants to comb his fingers through it and smooth into a semblance of order. It is a desire that is ludicrous as much as it is strong, and Loki has to clench his hands into fists to stop himself from submitting to it, no matter how insane it is.

Another sigh falls from Thor’s lips and he shifts, the covers falling lower and exposing the naked plane of his chest, reminding Loki of Thor’s annoying habit of sleeping bare. Dragging his eyes from almost hypnotic sight of Thor’s chest rising and falling with steady breaths, Loki steals another glance of Thor’s face. In that moment, Thor shifts again, the fingers of his right hand twitching as he does so, almost as if he is reaching after something. Or _someone_ , if the smile on his face and the slight hitch in his breathing are any indication of the nature of his dream.

Frowning, Loki inclines his head. He wonders who is visiting Thor’s dreams. Surely, it cannot be that mortal. Thor cannot be as pathetic as to still remain enamoured with her to the point of reaching after her in his dreams. Another sound falls from Thor’s lips, this time a moan, and Loki almost takes a startled step back as a sensation of warmth coils in the pit of his stomach, but he manages to gather himself in the last moment.

Anger and disgust surge through him, but Loki is not sure at whom are they directed – himself or Thor. But it hardly matters. It is time to end this charade before the Norns change their mind and revoke their favour. And Thor’s dream really goes in the direction it seems it is heading.

Loki waves his hand, the manacles appearing between his clenched fingers. He hesitates one more moment, aware that this is the most dangerous part of his plan, and he likely has only this one opportunity to succeed. He allows the shadows surrounding him to recede, confident that Heimdall has more interesting sights to observe than slumbering Thor, and he reaches after Thor’s hand, but before he has a chance to slip on the first manacle, Thor’s eyes flutter open, and Loki’s heart, along with his entire being, grows deathly still. 

They simply look at each other for a long moment, two pair of eyes fixed firmly on the other, but with entirely different expressions. Loki’s are shocked and terrified, and Thor must be still half-dreaming, for it is the only explanation why he is regarding Loki with an expression which is equal parts tenderness and hunger. Something stirs low in Loki’s belly as an answer to Thor’s heated gaze, and the surge of panic and mortification which follows shortly after is what snaps Loki into action. And not a moment too soon.

Thor blinks, his eyes widening as realization starts to dawn in their depths, followed quickly by the myriad of emotions, startlingly similar to those swirling inside Loki’s chest. Thor surges forward, but Loki is quicker. He straddles Thor, grasping his right hand and slipping on the first manacle. Thor’s eyes widen in surprise and something Loki cannot name, and he hesitates a moment, looking at Loki almost like he is not sure what he should do now.

Loki makes a mistake of grinning in triumph and he does not even have a chance to curse his stupidity before a growl falls from Thor’s lips, his eyes lit aflame by anger. With a startling speed, he grabs Loki by the neck with his other hand, and bucking his hips, manages to roll them over.

Wrenching his manacled hand out of Loki’s slack grip, Thor tightens his grip around Loki’s neck. “I have warned you. Why could you not have listened to me?” Thor growls, but there is an edge of something very much like despair underneath the anger. With their positions reversed, his body immobilized by Thor’s greater bulk and steely grip Thor has on his neck, Loki panics, and it is more desperation than actual thought which prompts Loki to utter a muffled. “Stop.”

And Thor does.

His eyes widening in shock, Thor throws Loki a bewildered gaze. “What have you _done_?” 

Loki almost bursts into hysterical laughter, but he settles for a wide grin which makes the expression of dread in Thor’s eyes deepen further. “So it works with only one.” He states lightly, despite the fact that he is trapped beneath Thor’s naked body, Thor’s fingers a firm presence against his neck. “I did not think it would.”

“What have you done to me, Loki?” Thor growls, glowering, and Loki has to admire his audacity. Anyone else in his position would be calling for help, but not Thor. No, Thor _demands_. He probably does not realize it yet. Does not realize in what position he is in now. How far he is from having the right to demand anything, utterly at Loki’s mercy. The thought sends a shiver of delight through Loki’s body, making him almost forget that the danger has yet to pass. But what does he have to fear now, with Thor Odinson at his command? A tantalizing image of Thor, fighting his own subjects in Loki’s name, appears before his mind’s eye, so sweet and potent, it almost erases the reason why Loki has come here in the first place.

 _Almost_.

“Loki, cease this trickery and I may yet find it in myself to show you mercy.”

Loki only smiles at Thor’s demand, captivated by the growing terror in Thor’s eyes, despite the firmness of his voice. “Silence.” Loki commands, almost tenderly, and the sight of Thor’s mouth opening and closing around words that refuse to come out, sends another rush of excitement through him, tiny pinpricks of electricity sparking along his nerve endings. It is exhilarating, to have so much power over Thor now, after an entire decade of hiding and aimlessness. “Do not say or do anything, unless I command you to.” 

And then it finally dawns on Thor, now when it is too late to do anything, just how deeply and utterly helpless he is. And yet, the fool refuses to surrender. Loki can see that fight has not left Thor. He can see it in the twitch of his muscles straining against the manacle’s compulsion, in the way he grits his teeth and the faint tremble of his fingers against the naked skin of Loki’s neck. It makes Loki want to howl with laughter. He has seen this man shatter the Bifrost, and now, he cannot even utter the word ‘please’ if Loki does not wish him to. All that strength and power, and he is reduced to a puppet, with Loki pulling his strings. The sensation of power and dark joy it gives Loki makes him want to hold on to it. Forsake his plan and see just how long the manacles can keep Thor bound. Perhaps even long enough for Loki to break him completely.

Thor’s laboured breaths break through the delightful haze of thrill and triumph around Loki’s thoughts. Blinking, Loki frowns as he takes in the misery, anger and helpless frustration of Thor’s expression, his face half-obscured by the tangled strands of his hair. Loki’s hand rises slowly, and this time Loki does not try to stop himself from running his fingers through Thor’s blonde locks. “You have always had so little patience for keeping your hair in order.”

Thor blinks, and Loki can almost taste the anger radiating off him, but there is something else present in Thor’s eyes, buried beneath the outrage and raging fires of bound fury. It is but a barest hint, a faint flicker of an emotion, but Loki can see it, much to his surprise, a fascinating mixture of tenderness and longing. Not something Loki would expect to see after their last encounter.

But it is just one of many impossibilities which have been brought to life on this night. Like the somewhat alarming fact that Loki is still lying under Thor’s naked body, playing with his hair, instead of making an end to this madness.

Frowning, Loki pulls his hand away. “Get off me.” Loki commands and Thor does not try to fight against it, releasing his hold on Loki’s neck and pushing himself off and away from Loki. Almost like he does not bear to touch him anymore. Closing his eyes momentarily, Loki gathers the errant strands of his self-control, reminding himself of the purpose of this entire exercise.

When he opens his eyes and pushes himself up into a sitting position, he is met with a perplexed blue stare, Thor’s brow creased in confusion and uncertainty. Sighing, he clasps the other manacle around Thor’s left wrist. “Now go and dress yourself. We still have a long journey ahead of us.”

That earns him a narrowed-eyed glare, full of murderous intent, but after a briefest hesitation, Thor rises to his feet and goes to fulfill Loki’s command.

Unexpectedly, this time, the sight of it leaves Loki feeling strangely hollow.

******

Loki tightens his grip around Thor’s wrist in support as the shadows around them part, revealing the familiar half-lit room and its lone guardian.

Loki’s breaths are coming out shallow and uneven. He shuts his eyes, trying to force his body into submission. To ruin all he had achieved so far on the account of magical exhaustion would be beyond ridiculous. Also, he would rather claw his own eyes out than allow Thor to see how weak he is, how much it costs him to remain standing. 

He manages not to double over, but only barely. His knees feel like they are about to buckle at any moment, and no matter how hard he tries, he cannot disguise a faint tremor of his hands. He knew this would happen, his infiltration in Asgard, followed by their journey to Alfheim, drove him to the very brink of physical collapse. He is somewhat convinced spite and stubbornness are what is still keeping him upright.

“You trespass.”

Loki’s eyes shoot open at the thinly veiled threat, stated in a flat voice. He manages to bite back the scathing retort, forcing his lips into a thin smile, but the hostility on the guard’s face does not lessen, not even a bit. The guard seemed disappointed when Loki gave him no excuse to exercise force during his first visit. And this time, he has all the excuses he needs.

Frustration surges through him, and, instinctively, Loki tries to clench his hands into fists, forgetting that he is still clinging to Thor’s wrist. Snatching his hand away as if burned, he shoots Thor a dirty look, which Thor returns with a glare of his own, staring at Loki with a scowl on his face, now only faintly softened by a touch of concern. It only adds to Loki’s growing agitation. 

As Loki led them through the pathways between the realms, Thor, the obstinate fool that he is, kept trying to break the compulsion. Loki even granted him the ability to speak, when it seemed Thor is close to bursting from the sheer effort of trying to express himself with something other than glaring. He revoked it soon afterwards. Listening to growled threats can grow tiresome real fast. Although, if there is something to be said about Midgard, it has significantly improved Thor’s vocabulary. Especially the part involving curses. He stopped fighting the compulsion after a while, when it became obvious it leads to nowhere, content with trying to bore holes in Loki’s head with his eyes.

“Stay here, and do not move an inch.” Loki orders harshly, relishing the way Thor’s eyes narrow into slits, the clear blue for some time now tinted grey, much like the storm clouds that were plaguing Asgard during Thor’s youth, when he had little to no control over the magic coursing through him. It is an unnecessary command, since the one Loki issued back in Asgard still stands, but his patience is very nearly at its end, and now, after coming so far, after subduing _Thor_ , he has to deal with an insignificant brute who allows his muscles do all his thinking.

He _could_ order Thor to deal with the guard. It would be prudent, considering his current state, but even the thought of Thor fighting his battles leaves a bitter taste in Loki’s mouth.

Ignoring yet another glare from Thor, Loki strolls leisurely toward the guard, but makes sure to stay out of his reach.

“I beg your pardon, my friend, but I had no time to seek an appointment beforehand.” Loki smiles, schooling his features into his most appeasing expression.

“You trespass.” The guard repeats with the same impassive tone of voice, as if Loki had not said anything at all.

The smile on Loki’s face falters momentarily, his fingers itching to draw upon his meagre resources of magic. But he settles for another try at reasoning with the brute. “I have something in my possession your master would appreciate having in his collection.”

But the guard merely takes a long, assessing look of Loki. He does not look overly impressed with what he sees. “Master receives only those with an appointment.” The guard says, as if Loki is a simpleton who could not understand him the first two times. Fixing Loki with a challenging gaze, he adds. “And you do not have one.”

Rising his hands in a placating gesture, Loki forces a calm over himself. He will not allow this simpleton to rattle him. “I see that you are serving your master well, but now you are working against his interests.” Allowing himself a reassuring smile, Loki takes a hesitant step forward. “The item in my possession is one of rarity and considerable power.”

The first time he was here, Loki thought the guard to be Thor’s type – warrior who is all raw, unstoppable strength, the kind you are best to fight from afar. As it turns out, he thought wrong.

Loki only has a tiny flicker of dark joy in the guard’s exotic eyes as a warning before the guard moves, with speed and agility almost rivalling Loki’s, a pair of long and curved blades appearing in the guard’s hands seemingly out of thin air. Loki manages to fling himself out of the reach of the guard’s blades, but not fast enough to avoid one slicing through the leather of his armour and grazing the skin of his abdomen. Loki manages to dance away from the swinging blades, his own daggers sliding into his waiting hands.

The guard does not allow Loki a moment of respite, charging at him, and Loki sidesteps him, keeping himself out of his reach. But the guard is well rested, obviously skilled and more than a worthy match for Loki. And, judging by the fierce glint in his eyes, he seems to enjoy himself. Not a very good combination against Loki in his current state. Not that the guard needs to know that.

“Is the pay truly as high to warrant your death?” Loki asks, grinning. He is fairly sure he cannot bribe the guard or make him stand down, but there can be no harm in provoking him into carelessness.

But the guard does not fall for his bluff, his mouth curling in disdain. “I do not negotiate. Those who trespass, die.” The guard says coldly, and it is only respite he gives Loki, charging once again.

This time Loki stands his ground dodging one and blocking the other blade, slicing the guard on his chest. But he does not have time to follow through, as the guard spins and kicks him hard in the chest with his booted foot, knocking the breath out of his lungs. Loki staggers backward, but he gathers himself quickly.

Both Loki and the guard are now panting harshly, seizing each other across the room. The guard touches the gash on his chest, an almost amusing frown creasing his brow at the sight of his bloodied fingers. Loki grins widely at that, and there is a new light in the guard’s eyes now, something almost like grudging respect.

“Not a weakling after all.” The guard states, and Loki’s jaw twitches in annoyance. Like he cares about what the brute thinks of him. “Killing you will be an honour.”

“Do not make promises you cannot fulfill.” Loki sneers, his grip on the daggers in his hands tightening.

The guard nods at that, slowly. And then he lunges again, and Loki slides down to his knees, rolling away from the guard. When he rises to his feet, the guard is already turning, ready to charge again. A trickle of fear enters Loki’s thoughts, and he swallows harshly. This situation is progressively growing worse. His muscles are starting to burn with exertion, his breaths unsteady and harsh, and he becomes aware that without magic, this is not a fight he will win.

Without his conscious decision, his eyes flick toward Thor, standing still as statue next to the entrance, but his outward calm is an illusion, masking a raging storm underneath. And, for the first time since Loki put on the manacles on his wrists, Thor looks more alarmed than incensed, his eyes pleading with Loki. It would be so easy to utter a command, just three simple words, and watch Thor show this guard the true meaning of strength. But Loki keeps his jaw firmly locked, the words trapped behind his tightly pressed lips. If Thor looked indifferent to Loki’s fate, Loki would not hesitate to force him into the battle with the guard. But, for some reason, Thor looks like he is about to shatter to pieces from the effort of fighting against the magical bonds holding him still and silent. And _that_ stops Loki more efficiently than anything else ever could.

_Died because he was too spiteful to know better. It would make a pathetic, yet fitting, epitaph._

Loki draws his eyes away from Thor, a grim smile curving about his lips. His insides twist like a nest of hissing snakes, his very being rebelling against the idea that occurs to him. He cannot win without magic, but the one Frigga taught him is not the only magic Loki has at his disposal. Opening his hands, Loki allows his blades to clatter to the ground, and if there is a flash of confusion on the guard’s face, it does not deter him. Just as the expression of utter horror on Thor’s face only makes Loki’s grin turn wider, sharper.

What happens next resembles a dream, a part of Loki’s consciousness disconnecting itself, just a bystander watching as the guard crashes into Loki, sending them down on the ground, Loki’s fingers clutching at the other’s wrists, straining to keep the twin blades away from his flesh, the expression of resolve fading into surprise, then alarm, on the guard’s face as Loki’s skin turns blue.

Then the screaming starts.

Olive skin turns black under the coldness of Loki’s touch. The guard starts trashing in Loki’s merciless grip, now trying to get away instead to attack, the blades falling from his slack grip. Loki easily rolls them over, straddling the guard, as a sheet of ice starts to spread along his wrist, down to his fingers forming a thin, but sharp ice spike, growing steadily until it reaches the guard’s neck.

The features of the guard’s face are contorted into a grimace of pain, the flesh of his wrists scorched almost to the bone under Loki’s still blue fingers. His screams have died down, morphing into pitiful whimpers, but Loki has to admit something about the brute – he is no coward. He does not expect mercy, nor is he willing to beg for it, waiting his death with as much dignity as a person in his current position could possibly have. It makes Loki hesitate, only a moment, but enough. The light flickers, and Loki rises his gaze toward its source, frowning at the globe.

“The master… will see you now.” The guard whispers, his voice dry and scratchy from the screaming, and Loki really has to give him the credit for the steadiness of his voice, despite the blackened mess Loki has turned his hands into.

Blinking, Loki changes back into his Aesir visage, letting go of the guard. Carefully, he rises to his feet, his heartbeat slowing down. He frowns when he looks down at the gash across his stomach, the torn leather stained red, indicating a deeper wound than Loki previously believed. Sighing, he steps over the guard, who remains lying down, his eyes closed shut, cradling his injured hands against his chest. Pausing to pick up his discarded daggers, Loki turns to face Thor. Now, with the fight over, he feels even worse than he had when they arrived, but physical ache and bone deep weariness are nothing compared to the knowledge Thor has seen his true face. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders, fixing Thor with a level stare, but Thor surprises him.

Among the chaotic tangle of feelings, plain on Thor’s face, Loki can see many things – anger, frustration, wonder and apprehension. But there is not even the smallest trace of disgust.

Crossing the space between them, Loki stops a mere step away from Thor. Swallowing past the lump of feelings lodged in his throat, Loki smiles crookedly. “Disappointed?” He utters softly, and he almost winces at how thin and tired his voice sounds. Thor frowns, then narrows his eyes into a hard glare, but otherwise stays still, his eyes flicking briefly toward the guard, before coming to rest on the growing red stain on Loki’s armour.

“He will live.” Loki sighs, then smirks. Baiting Thor comes natural as drawing breath. He has done it almost his entire life. In one shape or another. It is familiar ground, safe ground, and it keeps him from recalling the ridges adorning his hands and azure tint of his skin. “And so shall I.”

Thor’s frown deepens, anger sparking brighter in the depths of his eyes, and Loki grins wider. Choosing to ignore a different, no matter how short-lived, flicker of an emotion in Thor’s eyes, Loki turns on his heel. “Follow me.” He commands.

Loki does not wait for Thor, he merely keeps walking forward, knowing that Thor has no choice but to obey.

******

“You almost cost me my guard.” Hadrin scowls at him. “Do you know how difficult it is to find someone who is competent _and_ loyal?”

Loki flops down on one of the chairs, not caring about the sight he must present – weak, tired and injured. This entire ordeal is almost done, and the thought is almost enough to make him relax.

_Almost._

“Then you should not have delayed receiving us as long as you have.”

Hadrin merely shrugs. “I was curious.” He says simply. At Loki’s raised eyebrows, he adds unapologetically. “I thought Wren could best you.”

Loki’s eyes narrow into a glare, but he decides against wasting time and energy on futile exchange of barbs with the dwarf. Sighing, he inclines his head towards Thor, who is alternating between glaring at Loki and frowning in suspicion at Hadrin. “Hadrin, this is-”

“I know who it is.” Hadrin waves a dismissive hand at Loki, his eyes now resting on Thor with a look of fascination and a mild amusement. He comes closer to Thor, and Loki has to swallow a laugh at Hadrin, who is circling around Thor, assessing him as if he is appraising him as a potential exhibit for his collection. The look of outrage and indignation on Thor’s face makes holding back laughter almost impossible. “But all I heard about him has led me to believe that Thor Odinson is not quite as… subdued as it seems.”

“Oh, that.” Loki says lightly with a casual half-shrug, which earns him another glare. He will miss this, there is no question about it, to have this amount of power over Thor is something he could not have envisioned even in his wildest dreams. But now he truly wants everything to end. “You may speak.”

Thor blinks slowly, narrowing his eyes in suspicion, but his silence lasts only a second more. Then…

“Loki, there is no hole in all the Nine Realms that will be able to hide you from once I am free.” Thor growls, voice low and hoarse from unuse. “You have mocked me for the last time.”

Loki sighs, shifting his eyes toward Hadrin who is looking between Loki and Thor with growing amusement. “Is this more to what you expected?”

“Somewhat, yes.” Hadrin admits. “But, amusement value aside, I cannot fathom why you’re here again. I have already acquired all I wanted from you, and if my long life has taught me anything, it is that generosity is worthless.”

Loki sighs, the corner of his lips twitching. “Do not worry, I have not come here expecting generosity. Take a closer look of his hands.”

Hadrin frowns, suspicion and mistrust obvious in his gaze, but he takes a step forward, his eyes widening when he recognizes the manacles. He takes a step closer, lifting Thor’s right hand, his features twisting into that of wonder and outright hunger.

“I have no quarrel with you, but if you aid Loki in this scheme of his, you will make yourself an enemy of mine.” Thor states flatly, and Hadrin narrows his eyes, releasing Thor’s hand, which falls by his side. Loki straightens in his seat, suddenly interested.

“Do not threaten me, boy.” Hadrin smiles softly, but the smile does not reach his eyes. “I have lived for far longer than you can imagine. I have known your father even before he became the Allfather.” The smile on Hadrin’s face turns wistful as he adds. “He even sought my services a long, long time ago.”

Loki blinks, a dozen upon dozen questions threating to burst forth from his lips, but Thor beats him to it.

“And I should take your word for it?” Thor snorts, his lips curling in disdain. “Considering the company you keep.”

“You mean your brother?” Hadrin asks, amused.

“I am _not_ his brother!” Loki snaps, shooting a murderous look at Hadrin, but he cannot help but notice the complete lack of response on Thor’s part. Thor has not called him brother in a long time, but he still fails to deny it. Even now.

“Then why are you here?” Hadrin asks softly. Loki blinks, his features contorting into a pained grimace along with the widening of a knowing smile on Hadrin’s lips. “Willing to relinquish an artefact with so much power?”

“You presume too much, dwarf.” Loki hisses, but it is a feeble protest, and they both know it. Only Thor stands confused, his brow furrowed as he looks between Loki and Hadrin, his agitation rising by the second.

“What is going on here?” Thor demands, and were he able, Loki is sure his hands would be tightly clenched into fists. “Why have you brought me here, Loki?”

“Yes, Loki, do answer your brother’s question.”

Loki grits his teeth, silently promising death and suffering, but Hadrin remains unfazed by Loki’s glare. And why would he be? It is not like he is the one in the wrong.

Giving up finally, Loki leans back in his seat, closing his eyes. “Tell Thor about the curse, and I will relinquish the manacles.” He says flatly, without opening his eyes. Sleep. That is what he needs now. An entire decade of it. Sleep without dreams. “That is my deal.”

A low chuckle breaks the silence. “ _Curse_? You still haven’t given up on that ridiculous lie?”

Loki ignores Thor, concentrating on nothing but the next intake of breath, keeping his mind blissfully clear of everything, so it is Hadrin who answers.

“He _is_ speaking the truth. He is cursed.”

“And why should I believe anything that is spoken between these walls?”

“You don’t have to, but if you choose not to, it will bring your death in the end.”

“So this is to save my life? This entire charade? How big a fool would I have to be to believe that Loki wants to keep me alive?”

Anger, bright and blinding, surges through him, and Loki finds himself on his feet, merely a step away from Thor before he becomes aware he had even made the decision to open his eyes.

“Then die, you fool.” Loki snarls, his voice sharp and strained, his every breath coming out like it is dragged out of his lungs by invisible claws. “I have done all I could. All I am willing to do.”

Snatching Thor’s right wrist, he unclasps the first manacle, then does the same with the other, his entire body shaking with anger and frustration. He could care less what Thor would do now, incensed past reason and caution by Thor’s boundless arrogance and stupidity.

Not taking his eyes away from Thor’s shocked face, Loki extends his hand toward Hadrin. “Here, take your payment, dwarf.”

Thor remains still one long moment, and Loki can see shock bleed into dawning realization of his freedom. Slowly, Thor rises his hand, looking at it like it is something alien, then his gaze slowly turns toward Loki. And it is murderous.

With an enraged snarl, Thor grabs Loki by his neck, slamming him against the nearest wall. Loki does not even try to fight him off. He is too tired, too weak, to even put up a token effort.

“I warned you, Loki.” Thor snarls, and he is close enough Loki can feel each word as warm exhale of breath against his face. Close enough to see the hurt and despair beneath the fury in Thor’s eyes. “Why could you not have stayed away? Why force my hand? _Again?!_ ”

Thor’s grip around his throat becomes painful, and each intake of breath a struggle, but all he wants to do is laugh and laugh and laugh. One time he tries to do a noble thing, for ridiculous and pathetic reasons rooted in lies and deceit, and it ends up like this – with Thor squeezing the life out of him.

“Well, if you kill him, it will end the curse, and you won’t have to bother with breaking it.” Hadrin states. “So there’s that.”

Thor’s lips curve upward, revealing his teeth, his breathing coming out is harsh pants. His eyes are narrowed and Loki can see anger and hurt battling against doubt. The grip on his throat tightens even more, and Loki’s hands fly up, his fingers wrapping around Thor’s hand, but it is more out of instinct than a real effort of trying to break free.

“Come… on, Thor.” Loki wheezes, his vision starting to cloud, the familiar lines of Thor’s face blurring until only the stormy grey of his eyes remains sharp and clear. “Just a little bit more… and all will end. Son will fix… father’s mistake.”

Another tight squeeze, followed by a guttural growl that is equal parts anguish and fury, then the pressure on Loki’s neck disappears, as Thor releases his hold, stepping back.

Loki does not move, leaning against the wall as he brings his hand to his neck, rubbing it. His eyes follow Thor as he stalks toward the other end of the room, his back turned on Loki. His shoulders are drawn in a tense line, rising and falling with each harsh inhale, and Loki can see the flexing of his hands as they rhythmically clench and unclench.

Grimacing, Loki abandons massaging his sore neck in lieu of inspecting his still bleeding wound. It is not a serious wound, a little more than a graze, but coupled with the strain from the last days, it is starting to become a nuisance.

“The curse. Tell me all.”

Loki’s head snaps up when Thor’s low, even voice breaks the silence. Frowning, he looks from Thor, who still has his back turned, to Hadrin who is standing near the shelf housing his collection, his face unreadable.

“A fine curse, a sight to behold now that I can see the both of you. Like the finest spider’s web.”

“Little less poetry, Hadrin.” Loki snorts, his voice scratchy and pained. Thor’s shoulders twitch, but he does not turn. “Thor enjoys that what is simple and clear.”

Once upon a time, Thor would not release a mirthless chuckle at Loki’s statement. But once upon a time, they were not the men they are now.

“You have made sure nothing is ever simple and clear in my life, Loki.” Thor says, turning to face Loki. Anger has drained from his face, along with hurt and anguish, leaving him looking almost as tired and dejected as Loki is feeling.

“Is this about to turn into another melodramatic interlude, or can I continue?” Hadrin interjects, looking decidedly impatient.

Thor’s gaze flicks toward him, almost as if he has forgotten he is present. “Forgive me. Please, continue.”

“It’s good to know that at least one of you possesses manners.” Hadrin remarks. “I could describe the magic of the curse in great detail, but to keep everything simple and clear, it is a nasty and clever curse. That friend of Loki’s had one wicked sense of humour.” Loki snorts at that, and Thor’s eyes flick toward him, castigating him. Loki rolls his eyes, but keeps silent. “As long as both of you are alive, for each day that Loki lives, you lose a week of your life, and Loki gains additional day. Simple. Cruel, but simple.”

Thor blinks, his expression drawing into a frown, but he looks like he is considering Hadrin’s words. Like he is starting to accept the truth of them. And Loki feels like the invisible wines squeezing his lungs have been cut, and he can breathe freely.

_Done. Finally, it is done. Out of my hands._

“And you… you cannot break the curse?”

Hadrin’s expression becomes tight and closed off at Thor’s question. “You are centuries too late for that question.” He says, a corner of his lips turning up into a faint smile. “I cannot even try, but there are many that would be delighted to seize the opportunity to have the king of Asgard in their debt.”

Thor frowns at that, like the idea agrees ill with him, then he squares his shoulders, an expression of deadly resolve spreading across his features, and Loki freezes at that. He has seen the same or similar expression on Thor’s face many times, and not once had it ended well for him.

Thor fixes Loki with an unflinching stare, and Loki feels a shudder of dread run up his spine. “We need to speak, Loki.” He says, and it is not a plea, but a demand. One which brooks no argument. It pains him, but Loki knows Thor well enough to bite back the words already on the tip of his tongue, well aware protests will not aid him much. “In private.”

Resigned, Loki nods, then closes his eyes, suddenly aware that his plan, once again, has somehow ended up blowing up in his face. Despite its seeming success.

******

The sight of Thor moving around his less than spacious abode in Vanaheim serves only in adding annoyance to a rather substantial weight of dread settled in the pit of his stomach.

He is still unsure why did he bring Thor here, to a place closest to the idea of home for him. Perhaps because it had been the least strenuous journey for him in his weakened state. Or perhaps he had already decided it is time to move on.

But for whatever reason, after he took care of his wound and changed clothes, he found Thor wandering around, a pensive look on his face and a surprisingly gentle touch of his fingers against Loki’s meagre possessions. The sight seems wrong, Thor’s presence barely fitting inside Loki’s humble residence, and it sparks another wave of aggravation, and, annoyingly, self-consciousness inside Loki.

“This is hardly a sight worth the interest of the king of Asgard.” Loki says, dryly, but even to his own ears, he sounds defensive. “You wanted to speak to me in private. Now speak.”

Thor stays silent for a moment, a small, wistful smile playing on his lips, his hand hovering an inch over a flower in a small globe, surrounded by a faint green glow. Loki grows cold, his heat starting to race. Thor throws him a glance, the same smile still stretching his lips.

“It has always been Mother’s favourite.” He says, his fingers trembling above the white petals another moment. With one last glance at the flower, Thor pulls his hand, turning toward Loki. “The gardens were always full of them.” A pause, then. “They still are.”

Loki clenches his jaw, his chest growing tighter by the second. He has forgotten about the flower, kept alive by magic. And now, he feels exposed, a wound that has never truly healed starting to bleed anew. And Thor is looking at him like he knows exactly what is going on inside him.

Blinking away the blurriness from his vision, Loki straightens, squaring Thor with a blank look. “I am waiting, Thor.”

The smile fades from Thor’s face, his expression hardening. “You have broken into Asgard, bound my will and forced me to follow you.” Thor states evenly. “And all that after I warned you not to provoke me anymore.”

The corner of Loki’s mouth curves slightly upwards. “If you listened to me the first time, I would not have to.” Loki says unapologetically. “It is not as if I have profited from it.”

Something flashes across Thor’s face, but it disappears quickly. Far too quickly for Loki to discern its nature. But Thor’s expression softens, a disconcerting touch of smugness to his smile. “Why have you done it?”

Loki’s eyes narrow, his lips pressing into a thin line. The dreaded question. The one with an answer not even Loki can understand.

“Does it matter?” Loki says in lieu of an answer. “And is it truly wise of you to waste time on useless questions? Shouldn’t you hurry back to Asgard to find someone who can break Amora’s curse?”

There is a simple solution to Thor’s problem, one that would effectively make an end to the curse, but Loki is certain Thor would never take anyone’s life solely to save his own. Not even Loki’s.

“I already have.”

Loki frowns in confusion. Thor did not even believe in the existence of the curse, so when could he have found someone to break it. But then the realization hits him. “ _No_.” Loki says resolutely. The sheer incredulity of Thor’s idea makes Loki want to laugh, but it also makes him want to run to another realm, leaving Thor to his insanity.“Find someone else.” 

“You owe me. I would not be in this position were it not for you.”

Loki takes a deep, steadying breath. “You have a very simpleminded opinion on magic.” He says slowly, keeping his voice even, but just barely. It irks him to confess his lack of knowledge, but he needs to cut off this ridiculous notion before it takes root in Thor’s mind. “I know nothing about breaking curses. Find someone who does.”

“And who can I trust with this truth?”

“And you seem to think you can trust _me_?!”

“You could have kept silent about the curse if you wanted my death.”

“That does not equate my willingness to actively try to save your life.”

“Very well. But tell me one thing.” Thor says, his expression unreadable. “Could you do it, given time and effort?”

Loki hesitates a moment. “Perhaps.” He says slowly. “But you do not have time and I do not have resources to even begin researching.”

“And who does have that kind of resources?”

Loki rolls his eyes, exasperated. “ _You_ do, of course. If you ever deigned to step…” He trails off, when he sees a flash of triumph on Thor’s face. “Think better on this, Thor. You cannot be serious.”

“You would be under my protection.” Thor points out. “No one would dare to go against my orders.”

“I am not afraid of going back.” Loki snaps. “I simply have no desire to put myself through torture for you.”

Thor’s eyes shift toward Loki’s lower abdomen, where Hadrin’s guard slashed him with a dagger, his eyebrows rising pointedly. “The events of the last few days are a testament to the contrary.”

“You had your hand around my throat mere hours ago, and now you are willing to place your life in my hands?”

“Yes.” Thor says simply.

“You are mad.” Loki says, agitation and wonder clinging to his words. “What could have changed in just a few hours?”

“I believed you hated me a few hours ago.” Thor says without hesitation or pause, his eyes holding Loki’s gaze unflinchingly. “But I do not think it to be true anymore.”

Loki blinks, opens his mouth, and he really wants to call Thor an imbecile, a sentimental fool who deserves to die because of his own stupidity and arrogance, but the truth of the matter is quite different. Thor is only partly mistaken. Loki hates him. But not nearly enough to want him dead. If anything, Amora’s curse had made it quite obvious.

Shutting his mouth, Loki throws a glare at Thor who only smiles in return.

Closing his eyes, Loki releases a deep breath. Thor is mad, there is no denying that. But, then again, so is Loki. “Very well.” Loki says, resigned. “I will go back with you.”

He keeps his eyes closed, but he does not have to open them to see the widening of Thor’s smile.

_Fools, both of them… but who is the bigger one?_


End file.
